


A Meeting in Rift Magic

by hholme1995



Series: What We Wanted, Never Had, and Will Never Have Again [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Mages, Not Canon Compliant, POV Inquisitor, POV Solas, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smutty?, Solas Being Solas, Solas is an Egg, The Circle, Young Inquisitor (Dragon Age), angst and annoyance, glacially slow romance guys, manipulative warden cousland, ser barris is my favorite thing, sex eventually I promise, trevelyan is an ass, way too slow romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-03-07 11:12:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 28,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13433511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hholme1995/pseuds/hholme1995
Summary: A young mage from the Circle at Ostwick, Diana Trevelyan went to the Conclave, hoping to find a way back to normal. Instead, she finds herself marked. Solas is both impressed and infuriated with the young mage. A combination of circumstance and fate will draw this unlikely pair together.





	1. A Meeting in Rift Magic

Nothing had gone as it was meant to. Corypheus had powers that couldn’t be anticipated, and a visitor had perverted the purpose of the anchor. Just another mistake, even more pain for his people. Solas quietly reprimanded himself; his recriminations could wait until the Breach was sealed. He turned his attention to the task at hand, evaluating the woman on the granite slab. Solas looked ruefully at the patient… or was prisoner a better term, as they had stored her in the dungeon, tied down like a beast. She was young, mid-twenties perhaps, with alabaster skin, unaccustomed to sunlight. A symptom of her confinement in the Circle no doubt. Her red hair was long and braided, but distressed; he noted some blood had dried in it, and dirt coated her brow. His head shook in disgust, they hadn’t tended her injuries, and they were numerous. Three broken ribs, a hideous purple bruise was already blossoming over her midsection; a gash that graced just above her breast, roughly bandaged in dirty cloth, and finally, her lips cut, one eye swollen shut, and her nose utterly shattered.  
“How is she?” a crisp woman’s voice broke his evaluation. He hadn’t heard Cassandra enter; she could be remarkably quiet when she wished, a bizarre trait for a warrior.  
“It seems you haven’t done much to treat our patient,” Solas replied, turning to face her, “as I understand it, you’ve had her for two days before calling me in.” A judgmental grimace formed on his face, the woman deserved some dignity at least, even if she never awoke. Cassandra seemed to read his thoughts, responding coldly:  
“We didn’t believe she would survive at all, considering her hand,” she looked down in suspicion at the green magic emanating from the mystery woman, “no point wasting resources.”  
“It appears she won’t die, though I have yet to understand why not,” a twinge of curiosity entered his face as his eyes returned to the unconscious woman, “shall I treat her wounds as well as study the mark?” He looked to Cassandra politely, awaiting her response.  
“Very well,” Cassandra leaned in, her eyes hard, “we need results Solas.” She needn’t say the threat, he heard it in her tone. She turned quickly on her heel, allowing no response, her boots now loudly clacking through the dungeon.  
Solas gathered the materials he would need to treat her, retrieving many reams of soft cloth, and bubbling tinctures from the apothecary. The woman was still unresponsive when he returned, her breathing shallow. The ribs needed the most desperate attention. He uncorked one of the bottles, the smell of spindleweed filling the air, as he gently spread the ointment across the now massive bruise, gently weaving in healing magic to encourage the tissue. The bruise lightened in color slightly, the healing process already in action. He turned his attention to the gash in her chest. They had wrapped the filthy cloth tightly around her breast, and there appeared to be nothing beneath. He began to gently unwind the dirty bandage, both the wound, and her breasts revealed through the gesture. It was bad. Worse than he originally thought; black and green tendrils of disease stretched out from the crevasse torn into her flesh. The skin itself was red and puckered, but a tinge of grey and black was setting in. It had been so long since he’d needed to treat such a wound. Gently, he covered her breasts with a light cloth, to protect her modesty. He rose from his chair, pondering the injury. He knew of no magic to draw out the disease, but perhaps alchemy? He strode quickly in the direction of the stairs, considering the problem further as he left the dungeons. 

The alchemist had a few suggestions, but Solas wasn’t confident in them. The corruption in the wound was so extensive, he was uncertain any tincture could settle it. As he entered the Chantry, heading towards the dungeons, a loud scream disrupted his thoughts. He ran down the dungeon stairs, the scream had been the prisoner, it must be. The other chantry sisters and clerics were shocked by the sound, but had made no move to the stairs. He absently noted that Cassandra, the Seeker was a few footfalls behind him. The scene they came upon, was grisly. The prisoner had awakened, and burned through the bondage tying her to the stone slab. She hadn’t spared her wrists the flames, and the skin was bubbling, a fresh burn swelling her skin. But of greater interest was the prisoner’s actions on her chest wound. Her right hand was pressed into it, fingers dipping inside the gash itself, tearing open the magic he had used to seal it. She was sweating profusely, and tears streamed silently from her face. Solas saw the prisoner call her magic to life, sending tiny green tendrils from her fingertips, weaving into the wound, pulling at the corruption that lay under the skin. The Seeker drew her sword, bringing it to the prisoner’s throat.  
“Stop! Cease your magic before I cut your throat.” The Seeker spat at her, but besides a quick glance, the prisoner made no move to stop the magic.  
“Wait, Seeker,” Solas hastily pushed the Seeker’s blade aside, stepping slightly in front of the prisoner, “I believe she is simply healing the wound, observe.” The Seeker lowered her blade skeptically, her eyes tracing the line of the prisoner’s magic. It was a curious type of magic, he had never seen it’s like; the vile corruption that swam through her was being drawn into her fingertips. As the process reached its conclusion, the prisoner’s hand fell to the side, now covered in the black pus that had been poisoning her body. But the wound itself was clean; still open, and bleeding, but no longer spreading disease. The prisoner was drenched in sweat from the pain and magical exertion. As her eyes began to close, she turned her head slightly to Solas, her soft voice, barely above a whisper: “Thank you.”  
After such a display of magic, the Seeker was more concerned than ever and took to posting guards in the room while he studied her mark. It was a vicious looking thing, a jagged green opening. When it was active, it sparks aggressively, causing convulsions in the prisoner’s hand. He wondered if it was painful. It certainly looked as though it would be. Would it have caused irritation like this to him? It was possible, even though the orb had been attuned to him.  
“Solas!” Cassandra’s barked his name, drawing his attention, “a rift is forming outside, demons everywhere, they need your magic.” She abruptly lifted him from his seat, and pushed him towards the door. Solas hesitated, looking warily at the Seeker.  
“And what of the prisoner?” he took a tentative step towards the unconscious woman. The Seeker held out her arm defensively, narrowing her eyes slightly.  
“Leliana and I will handle it.” Solas backed off, quickening his pace as he headed for the exit. He wasn’t certain if he could trust the Seeker not to harm the prisoner, but he had little choice but to leave if a rift was forming.  
The courtyard was filled with Inquisition soldiers battling shades and rage demons alike. Staff drawn, Solas called to the benevolent spirits of the fade, casting a barrier around the warriors. A rage demon turned on him, alerted by his magic. Solas swept his staff, drawing up a wall of ice, freezing the creature in its tracks. Most of the original demons had been vanquished, but the rift kept spewing new ones, they couldn’t last long.  
It was nearly an hour until help arrived at the rift. Cassandra’s shield was raised, smashing into group of shades, while her stuck a demon approaching her flank. A female mage had come in behind the Seeker, but Solas hadn’t been able to catch a look at her face. The mage was quickly at his back, casting a barrier over them, as Solas tried to recover his mana. A group of shades were alerted by the sound, and came pressing toward them. He began shooting basic attacks with his staff; but it had little effect as the creatures approached. Suddenly a crack sounded behind him as lighting struck the shades, ricocheting between them until they fell. He whipped around to the sound, finally getting a look at the mage’s face. It was the prisoner. She still looked dreadful, but her swollen eye could open slightly now. Although he noticed a new purple bruise developing on her cheekbone, although he couldn’t recall a demon being within range during the battle. Her mouth was twisted in a smug smile, surveying the pile of shades she had broken as their essences disintegrated back into the Fade. The mark on her hand was sparking wildly, and her face contorted into a look of pain as the magical tension increased. Solas had an idea and desperately grabbed at her marked hand, shoving it into the rift beside them. The woman clenched her teeth and a small grunt of pain emanated from her; but within moments the rift was closed. The woman roughly pulled her hand back, eyeing Solas with an unreadable expression. Her eyes slightly narrowed, with an eyebrow raised in a silent question.  
“I had a hypothesis about the mark, which was correct,” Solas explained, leaning gently on his staff, “it seems you hold the key to our salvation.” The woman lowered her brows the silent question seemingly answered, but her mouth drew into a line.  
“The mark you mean,” her voice was hard, and she paused, her brows coming together again in contemplation, “…as a key? Interesting.” she mumbled a few words to herself that he couldn’t quite catch, but she twirled the marked hand, stretching her fingers, seemingly grasping at something, she continued to speak silently to herself. Calculations perhaps? The Seeker wasn’t nearly as intrigued by the woman’s behavior as Solas, and quickly jumped into introductions.  
“Diana,” she gestured to the woman, who dropped whatever thought she was toying with, stiffening her posture, attending the Seeker with an obedient look, “this is Solas, he is an apostate, unlike you.”  
“Oh I see,” Diana said, seeming to come to some revelation, “of course.”  
“All mages are apostate now Seeker,” Solas replied quickly, and a hint of a smile played at Diana’s lips. Cassandra tipped her head slightly in acquiescence.  
“And this is Varric,” the Seeker continued, a look of distaste on her face as the rogue jauntily stepped forward, “he is…” she didn’t get to finish as Varric did a mock bow.  
“Just trying to help,” he grinned at the Seeker, and a disgusted noise escaped her lips. Diana moved silently towards the dwarf, but still maintained a minimum radius around the Seeker.  
“Your crossbow is unique,” it was a statement, rather than a question, but she looked towards Varric expectantly, awaiting some response. He smiled broadly, always pleased to discuss the weapon.  
“Ah yes, Bianca is one of a kind.”  
“You named your crossbow ‘Bianca’?” Diana’s face shifted into a smirk, as she eyed the dwarf.  
“Beautiful name for a beautiful lady.” He replied as he patted the weapon affectionately. The Seeker was done with their repartee however, and stepped towards the two of them purposely.  
“Solas,” he jerked his neck to face her, “would the prisoner’s mark work on the breach in the temple?” He considered for a moment, Diana helpfully laid open her hand to him, allowing him to examine the mark again.  
“I believe it may, we should head there now,” the Seeker nodded firmly, giving Diana a meaningful look, “and Seeker,” she shifted her eyes back to him, “although this woman is a mage, I can’t imagine any mage with enough power to cause the breach.”  
“Thank you Solas.” The Seeker’s tone softened slightly. She looked towards Diana again, and the mage nodded, transferring her staff to the Seeker. They seemed to have some understanding between them, but Solas could not discern what. They headed in the direction of the temple; Diana was kept in front, but within reach of the Seeker. The Seeker had gently tucked the staff into her belt. Diana’s hands were behind her, splayed open in what must have been an uncomfortable position.  
“Seeker,” Varric chided as they walked through the snow-covered ground, “the kid agreed to help, and Chuckles here,” Solas realized the dwarf must have meant him, but ‘Chuckles’ hardly seemed to be a suitable nickname, “thinks she couldn’t have done…this,” he gestured to the surrounding area, which had been devastated by demonic activity, “does she really have to walk like a prisoner heading to the gallows?” It appeared that Solas was not the only one who observed the strange arrangement between Cassandra and Diana, one that had seemingly been negotiated silently.  
“Her motives are still unknown,” Cassandra said tightly, and perhaps a bit defensively, “until we get more information, she is still a suspect.”  
"And if we are attacked be demons on the way,” Solas offered, “would you not allow her a staff in protection?” He gestured to Diana’s staff, still tied at the Seeker’s belt. But before Cassandra could respond, Diana lightly replied:  
“She can toss it to me,” her head didn’t turn, and if their conversation regarding her innocence made her uncomfortable, she didn’t show it, “it was no hindrance during our last encounter.” Solas did recall seeing Diana charge into the fray with her staff already in hand, the Seeker must have passed it to her when they encountered the fight.  
“And the weird hand thing?” Varric asked, raising an eyebrow.  
“Standard practice for handling a mage.” Cassandra responded quickly.  
“Wow,” Varric laughed, “you’re both so serious about this,” he jogged ahead to Diana’s side, nudging her slightly, “must’ve been quite a conversation about your walking here huh?” he laughed again.  
“There was no discussion,” Diana spoke simply, her voice betraying no emotion, “I knew the expectation already.” Varric’s smile dimmed as he slowed back into place with Solas.  
“What does that mean?” he elbowed him, whispering conspiratorially.  
“She is a circle mage,” Solas responded back, trying to keep his voice low, “I’m sure she is practiced in…” he paused, trying to find the right description, “conforming.” Varric seemed primed to respond but their conversation was cut short as the unmistakable sound of a rift drew closer.  
Cassandra deftly pulled the staff from her belt, throwing it to Diana, whose hand was already outstretched. A crack of lighting erupted from it, hitting a group of demons who had emerged from the rift. Solas quickly placed a barrier, and began hurling ice spikes at the creatures, while Varric pierced them with bolts. Cassandra was engaging the largest of the demons, alternating between blocking and striking. Diana cast a spell he didn’t recognize, and her footfalls became silent as she approached the rift. She pushed her hand into the rift, her teeth clenching and eyes watering as she did so, but she didn’t cry out. As her hand started quaking, the rift expanded and contracted, causing a shockwave to stagger the demons on the field. She leapt back into the battle, casting a quick barrier on herself and the Seeker. Solas was surprised, and found himself grimacing at the mage in confusion as he continued to ice the surrounding demons. The battle moved quickly then, with the enemy falling left and right whether from magic or sword play. As Diana cast the last of the demons down with a concentrated burst of lightning, she pressed the mark into the rift again, sealing it completely this time. As soon as the battle was complete, she walked cautiously towards the Seeker, gently offering her staff, and keeping her face carefully neutral.  
“No, no,” the Seeker sighed in a defeated manner, sheathing her sword, “keep it. I should remember you came willingly.” Diana nodded her head once in gratitude, slowly attaching her staff to her back.  
“Of course, Seeker, thank you.”  
“What was your purpose is disturbing the rift?” Solas interjected, walking towards Diana, “You knew it couldn’t be fully sealed at that time.” Diana turned to face him, a small smile playing at her lips, and her eyes bright.  
“Yes, I had a theory regarding the rifts,” she observed her hand, “as they are entrances to the Fade, and the mark acts as a ‘key’ of sorts,” she smiled more broadly, and he realized this is the idea she had been considering after their first meeting, “I thought I could perhaps temporarily close and reopen them, like closing and opening a door” she continued, her hands now giving a physical explanation of her words, “the demons would then be temporarily cut off from their source, thus leaving them stunned.” She concluded, taking a deep breath.  
“Inspired,” Solas nodded in praise to the young mage, “and a surprisingly quick grasp of rifts.” Diana blushed slightly in response, bringing a pretty rose tint to her cheeks. A very youthful response to praise, Solas thought.  
“But perhaps,” the Seeker interrupted, bringing Diana to her full attention, “you might consult us before you test your theories?” Diana’s smile stayed in place, but she quickly stepped closer to the Seeker.  
“Oh yes of course,” she said politely, “my apologies, Seeker.” She didn’t sound particularly regretful, but her concession seemed to please the Seeker, who rallied the group to continue up the mountain. They reached the forward camp, and Leliana seemed to be in argument with a middle-aged brother of the Chantry. They approached them, and the brother immediately pointed a bony finger at Diana.  
“Her! Lock her in irons! She must be taken to Val Royeaux for judgement!” He yelled, catching the ears of several inquisition soldiers. Their eyes fell to Cassandra, looking for direction.  
“No,” she said firmly, “you have no authority in this matter.” The brother huffed indignantly.  
“I am a brother of the Chantry, the highest surviving member present, I have the only authority.” But the soldiers followed Cassandra’s command, returning to their posts; Leliana snickered.  
“You are a glorified bureaucrat,” Leliana said, “if that.” She added somewhat more quietly. The brother was red with frustration, but said nothing in response.  
“Leliana,” The Seeker’s voice caused her head to turn, “The pris…,” Cassandra stopped, and corrected herself, “Diana’s mark can seal rifts. We need to take her to the Breach.” Leliana nodded.  
“The valley is flooded with demons, you should take the mountain pass,” Leliana eyed Diana, “it will be faster.” Cassandra shook her head defiantly.  
“We lost a patrol through that passage. We must call out the soldiers, storm the valley to the temple.” The two of them bickered back and forth, until an exasperated Cassandra turned to Diana.  
“What do you think?” Up until now, Diana had been examining the mark, preforming some variety of magic with her other hand. Solas couldn’t tell the purpose of the spells she was using, but after each the furor in her brow depended, and she mumbled to herself. Having been asked a question, her head jolted up, her magic receding quickly.  
“Speed is of the essence.” She said simply, nodding gently to Leliana. Cassandra sighed wearily, but seemed to accept the decision.  
Climbing to the pass was challenging, with multiple ladders and sharp cliff faces. They had to stop more than once as Diana struggled to keep up.  
“Not much of an athlete huh?” Varric teased, sitting next to Diana, her face red with exertion.  
“Life in the Circle wasn’t quite so,” she paused trying to catch her breath, “active.” Cassandra sauntered over to the pair, grimacing a bit at Varric, who was now chuckling.  
“You needn’t mock her so,” Cassandra said aggressively, gently passing a skein of water to the exhausted mage, who drank from it greedily, “she is doing fine all things considered.” Cassandra lay a hand softly on Diana’s shoulder, squeezing slightly in reassurance. It seemed that Cassandra had alternated from being suspicious to protective, the two emotions templars could seemingly have towards mages, Solas thought. Diana mouthed a brief thank you, and passed the water skein back to the Seeker. Solas noticed a moistness on the skein that hadn’t been present before Diana drank. He approached her quickly, and without warning flipped her hands over so her palms were facing up. Blood lined her hands, skin peeling, and blisters were already forming. Diana’s eyes shot up to Solas with frustration.  
“Here, let me fix them,” he said quickly, casting a healing spell. His magic was suddenly hit with a dispel, as Diana’s hands twitched in his.  
“No,” she said firmly, pulling a small flask from her robes, “they won’t form a callous if you heal them now,” she poured the liquid into her palms, rubbing what appeared to be a cold ointment on the wounds, “there is no way I’m going through this again. I want the callouses.” He glared at her in outrage. She nullified his magic, when he was trying to help her no less. Insolent child. He stood swiftly.  
“You could next time simply request I cease my magic, rather than casting a dispel.” He said coldly, making no attempt to hide his irritation. Diana shook her head, her face maintaining it’s calm expression as she continued rubbing the ointment.  
“No, you cast too quickly, a dispel was the best option.” She spoke with clinical accuracy. Solas remained fuming. “Cassandra,” she looked sweetly at the Seeker, whose eyes appeared sympathetic towards the mage’s bloodied hands, “could you please cut a bit off one of my robe sleeves, for some wraps?” Cassandra raised an eyebrow, but obeyed, using her sword to remove a sleeve, and cut it into two pieces, which Diana deftly weaved around her hands. Varric was quick to speak, using Bianca as a stabilizer to push himself off the ground.  
“If we are done with this installment of ‘Petty Mage Hospital’,” he grinned wickedly at Solas, and Diana stifled a laugh “I believe we should keep moving.”


	2. Growing Warm in the Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana is improperly dressed for the freezing ancient ruins. Solas helps her warm up.

They had finally reached the mountain pass; Diana’s hands were bleeding through the wrappings, but she still refused healing, simply pouring more ointment over the soggy bandages.   
“Ruins,” Varric sighed in an exaggerated manner, “must it always be ruins?”   
“Evidently.” Cassandra replied in an unamused monotone. Solas was uninterested in their banter, he was too intrigued by Diana, walking as she was with intense interest in the ruins they approached. She conjured a pale blue flame in her right hand, holding it to the carvings on the doorway.   
“Fascinating,” she whispered to herself, tracing her fingers over the symbols, she reached again into her mages robes, retrieving a few rumpled sheets of paper and charcoal, “I simply must take some tracings.” As Diana recovered the carvings, Solas examined them more closely; the language appeared to be ancient Tevene.   
“We have no time for this.” Cassandra snapped at Diana, and she quickly shoved the papers into her robes.   
“My apologies.” Diana’s face flushed in embarrassment as they continued through the ruins, taking no time to examine the history, even though Solas observed the young mage straining to see more details in the darkness. The Seeker had become more relaxed with Diana’s presence, and in their silent communication, seemed to provide permission for her to fall back with Solas. He was still somewhat peeved with the young woman, but decided that knowing the mage who had stolen his power, was essential.   
“Diana,” she turned to him, her eyes alight with curiosity, “when the Seeker informed you I was an apostate you…”   
“Ah yes,” she interrupted him, “you’re magic tasted different.” Solas’ eyes narrowed in irritation. She was too assuming for her own good.   
“It is improper to interrupt your elders child,” Solas responded haughtily, Diana stared into his eyes defiantly, “now, how did my magic seem different to you?”  
“You…” she paused, her brows coming together in concentration, “you warp the fade while you cast,” her face brightened into a smug smile, “you bring through some elements of the fade, it is a mildly acrid taste in the air.” Solas’s eyes tightened as he tried to stay cool. She was far too observant. It wasn’t possible for her to even guess his true nature, he soothed himself, she was human, a shemlen. He was drawn from his thoughts as she began speaking again.   
“And you,” she lowered her voice, “are hardly an elder, Solas.” Solas. It was the first time she has ever said his name. She held it heavily in her tongue, giving it a richness he wasn’t used to hearing. He smiled gently, turning to face the young mage.   
“I nearly am compared to you,” he chucked, allowing his eyes to sweep over her, he hadn’t noticed the state of her robes until now: torn horribly at the bottom, one of her legs provocatively bare, it was low cut too, displaying her long, milky neck, and unfortunately, part of the massive gash in her chest. He raised a hand to touch her wound, “how does it feel?” She immediately grimaced, taking his hands in hers and pushing them away.   
“I’m sorry,” she responded quickly, still holding his hands in hers, “it does still hurt.” She had elegant hands, with long tapered fingers. They were freezing in his, and she shook slightly.   
“You’re cold”. he realized, her robe was completely inadequate to the temperature in the ruins.   
“It’s fine,” she said unconvincingly, “we’ll be out of here soon enough,” suddenly she pulled her hands from him, and a bright crimson entered her cheeks, “and the blood, again I’m sorry.” He looked to his hands, they were stained with her blood, he had forgotten her mutilated palms. He shook his head quickly, bringing her hands back into his.   
“It’s alright,” he soothed, “don’t worry.” He pulled her close to him, wrapping an arm around her. She was shocked, and quickly tried to struggle away. “You’re hypothermic. You’ll be no use to anyone if you don’t warm up a little.” She scowled, but stopped struggling, allowing him to shield her from the cold. He charged up his magic, heating his hands, and gently running them down her arms. Soon, he felt her pressing against him, settling into his body while they walked through the ruins.   
“Oh Solas that feels amazing,” she said breathily, pushing her head against his chest, “mmmhm thank you.” He felt his heart race as she moaned next to him. But no. This was purely a practical arrangement; she was simply grateful. He pushed the feelings away, forcing his heart to slow, cooling his thoughts, as they continued walking.   
“Of course,” he responded, forcing his voice into a cold monotone, “it is required.”   
They were reaching the end of the ruins, and by this point Diana is acceptably warm. He allows her to move away, straightening her robe as she did so. He smiled at her; she was easy to smile at, even if she could be overly smug. She returned with a grin, but it suddenly shifted into a furious scowl. She pulled out her staff shooting a blast of lightning directly past his ear. He ducked, heart in his throat, until he turned around in time to see the shade disintegrate.  
“Thank you,” Solas said gratefully, “it must have been waiting in the ruins.” She nodded solemnly, returning her staff to her back. They continued towards the temple; this side of the mountain was more hospitable, until they reached the temple itself that is.


	3. The Breach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang has reached the Breach. Diana has agreed to try and seal it, but it seems too powerful for even her magic.

The smell of scorched corpses still permeated the air; reaching up in contorted poses of agony. Diana and Cassandra had taken the front, bending down occasionally to bless the dead, mumbling disjointed phrases presumably from the chant. The mood was solemn as they walked further into the temple, nobody felt comfortable speaking in the face of such destruction. The Breach loomed high above the temple, pulsing with magical energy. Diana drew in a breath sharply upon seeing the rift, taking a step backward.   
“Will you attempt to close it?” Cassandra turned to Diana, her hands having maneuvered to hold the hilt of her sword. The Seeker seemed capable to separating the personal and the professional quite neatly, Solas observed; as just an hour before she and Diana had been getting along very nicely. The gesture, and its implication, didn’t escape the young mage, whose eyes darted quickly to the Seeker’s sword.  
“Of course, Seeker,” she firmly stepped forward, swallowing hard, “I was simply…surprised at the height of the rift.” The Seeker nodded, and she let out the breath Solas realized she’d been holding, her hands gently fell from her sword. Diana motioned to them, beginning her descent into the temple. The Seeker fell back, giving the mage some space, and Solas took the moment to comment on the previous exchange.   
“Was that really necessary?” the words came out more venomously than he intended, “Would you kill her for refusing to help?”   
“Her life was not in danger,” the Seeker said quiet, albeit defensively, “It was…motivation, but it had no substance.”   
“I apologize Seeker,” Solas exhaled, “It is not my place to critique in such a desperate situation.” Cassandra shook her head.  
“No,” she looked up to him, her eyes as hard as ever, “the right choice is hard to determine these days.”   
“All too true.” both were surprised by Varric’s sudden interjection, but neither commented. They walked towards the center of the temple in near silence, none feeling particularly chatty, until a booming voice interrupted their respective thoughts.   
“BRING FORWARD THE SACRIFICE!”   
“What?! What is that?” Cassandra yelled, turning to Solas for explanation, but before he could supply a hypothesis, another voice emanated from the ether.   
“Go! Warn Them!”   
“Justinia!” Cassandra cried out, turning to Diana, “Is that her?! Did Most Holy call to you?!” Diana looked to her, brows drawn in confusion, her eyes wide with alarm.   
“I…I can’t remember…” They kept moving as the voices bounced off the walls of the temple, until they reached the center, and Cassandra gasped. A large shadowy figure was standing near the Breach; clearly a fade projection of the event that took place here, but before he could comment, Diana beat him to it. “It’s of the Fade,” she kept her eyes on the projection, hands on her staff, “the spirits there are recreating the event they saw,” Cassandra had drawn her sword and shield, glaring at the figure, “it is harmless,” Diana continued, “simply a memory.”   
“Do you remember it?” The Seeker snarled at the mage   
“No. I don’t remember any of it.” Diana responded firmly, returning her staff to her back. The apparition disappeared, the spirits now too engaged in the current party to bother imitating the past. Solas strode towards the Breach, raising his hand to feel the magic on his skin. The others watched closely, but kept their distance as he thought. Solas pulled at the threads of the rift, testing where it was weak and strong. Having reached an understanding of it, he turned to face the others.   
“It is closed, but not sealed,” they were in rapt attention as he spoke, “if our marked friend here reopens it, we can seal it properly.” He turned to Diana, his face drawn into an unnecessary question.   
“Of course,” she waved Solas off, approaching the rift, “this feels far more powerful than the others.”   
“Can you seal it?” Cassandra walked to the mage’s side  
“I’ll certainly try.”   
“Seeker,” Solas interjected, walking towards her, “opening a rift of this size will attract…attention.” The Seeker glowered, turning to the soldiers in their retinue.   
“That means demons, stand ready!” The soldiers drew their weapons with strict precision; the archers aiming towards the Breach. Diana motions backwards with her hand, a signal to the others to back up, which they obeyed. She approached the Breach cautiously, her brow furrowed, whispering to herself as she raised a shaking hand. Blood had completely soaked through her wrappings, with some dripping down her wrist. She closed her eyes and thrust the mark into the sky. Solas sensed a shift in the air, and turned towards the Seeker, she met his gaze with a questioning glance. They had both felt the shift, and Solas soon realized it was Diana. She had activated her magic, was trying to use it to amplify the mark. It roared alive, sparking green and aggressive, a bloodcurdling scream escaped Diana’s lips and tears streamed down her face. The combined noise of the Breach’s magic and Diana’s screaming was overpowering, with many soldiers trying to cover their ears as she opened the rift. Solas felt his stomach shift uncomfortably, a sense of disgust rising in his throat; the woman was being tortured. He glanced at the Seeker and Varric, they appeared unsettled as well; Varric looked sadly towards Diana, his eyes tightening; while Cassandra clutched at the hilt of her sword. A loud snap signaled the rifts opening, and a Pride demon of immense size leaped through the newly opened void. Diana fell to her knees, clutching her left wrist tightly. Solas cast a quick barrier around her, then turned his attention to the rampaging Pride demon. Cassandra had quickly drawn the demon’s attention, thrusting a flaming sword into its calf. It swiped claws towards her chest, which she masterfully blocked, templar shield in hand. Solas cast a few ice glyphs between the Seeker and the demon, unfortunately drawing it attention. It charged at him, bringing its hands down to the ground, causing the ground beneath them to quake. He lost his balance, slamming against the stone. He felt a barrier cast around him as he saw Diana brandishing her staff against the demon, purple lighting soon crackling through the air. Varric took the demon’s distraction as an opportunity, throwing down a flask of slowing poison. The creature slowly moved towards Diana, raising its hand in slow motion to tear her in two. She had shoved her hand back into the rift, crying and trembling at the sight of the demon, but not moving an inch. Solas lept into action, laying down another barrier around the mage, and throwing any spell he could at the blasted creature. The Seeker had snuck up from behind, expertly striking at the creature’s knees in a vicious sweep. But still it advanced, and still Diana stayed put.   
“Move!” Solas shouted, rushing towards the mage, trying to shove her out of the way. As he came close to her, he felt a wave of magic throw him back. Diana had thrown out her right hand, using her magic to sweep him across the temple. He slammed against the stone wall. He would be bruised horribly, but no more. As he lifted himself up, the Breach pulsed aggressively, throwing the demon back, and bringing it to its knees. Varric fired, pinning the demon to the ground by its feet. Cassandra took the opportunity, leaping into the air, landing on the creature’s shoulders, and thrusting her blade through its skull. The demon was dead, and all that remained was to seal the Breach. They turned to Diana, who had been all but forgotten in the cacophony. Her hand was already thrust towards the Breach, the last of her mana pulsing into the mark. He could feel that she was dangerously low; a particularly risky course of action, considering their nearness to the Fade. The Breach contracted and cracked, snapping back into its previous form, dormant, but not sealed. They ran to Diana, who had again fallen to her knees.   
“What happened, the Breach is not sealed?!” the Seeker exclaimed, touching the mage on the shoulder. But as her hand applied the smallest pressure, Diana fell to her side. Solas was the first to crouch down to her, and thus the first to see the damage. She hadn’t stunned the demon quickly enough. Its claws had raked through her; warm wet blood had soaked her robes, enormous gashes running through her abdomen. She was pale as snow. He quickly pressed his fingers to her neck. There was no pulse.


	4. The Herald Awakens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas watches over a recovering Diana, looking back on the events of their assault on the temple, and trying to sort through his own feelings. Diana awakens, and discovers her new title.

She hadn’t died. But it was a near thing. A very near thing. He had poured his magic into her, every thread of his mana was spent, just to keep her alive enough to be taken back to Haven. Even then, it was days of magical healing, alchemy, and fervent prayer until she had so much as moved. Cassandra had sat by her often, holding the mage’s hands in hers, bringing them to her forehead, whispering the Chant. The Seeker was in some ways a curiosity to Solas. So hard and unyielding, and yet, in moments like this, she showed a softness one would never expect. Those stationed at Haven had spoken of Diana in hushed whispers, some with fear, others with reverence. They had taken to calling her the ‘Herald of Andraste’. How human, to assume divine intervention in times of fear. It was a useful story for the Inquisition, but he feared what such a title would do to Diana. She was arrogant in her abilities, he knew that much was true. She was brazen, having used her magic on him twice. He still fumed at the thought of it. A title like that could only stroke the ego of an already self-important woman. He grimaced at her from the corner of the room. She was sleeping gently, her pale skin having finally achieved a healthier pink tinge. Her red hair had been expertly re-braided, he'd seen the spymaster, Leliana come in to do it one evening. He wondered at what purpose it had served, the spymaster had quickly defended the action as purely practical: her hair was getting in the way of treatment; but he saw the subtle defensiveness of her eyes. Perhaps the spymaster believed in Diana's supposed divinity as well. Diana herself had cried out a few times in her sleep, but seemed stable enough for now. The mark seemed to have stabilized too, it pulsed occasionally, but was otherwise quiet. He stepped towards the bed, pulling down the bed cover, and unbuttoning her blouse. The wounds were healed nicely. The scars were bumpy and pink now, but maybe in a year or so, she wouldn’t notice them at all. He applied more ointment, the minty smell permeating his nostrils. Diana moaned softly under his touch; automatically he drew his hands away, but she was still asleep. He placed his hands down again, finishing his work and bandaging her breast. He re-buttoned her blouse, pulling the covers over her again. He had no desire to be a voyeur, pursuing her nude form as she slept. He had caught one of the lesser healers doing so, letting his eyes and hands wander over her until he had intervened. After that, only he and Adan had been allowed to tend her. Letting his body fall into a chair, he regarded her carefully. Why had she thrown him back like that during the battle? It was foolish, dangerous, and the height of arrogance to use her magic on him in that way. He found himself becoming angrier the more he thought of it. She had nearly died, both from the attempt to seal the Breach, and the demon’s claws ripping through her. If she had let him move her out of the way, she wouldn’t be so injured now. He felt a growl rise in his throat just imagining the scene again. The Seeker had run the whole way to the forward camp, her face twisted into a defiant sneer, Diana draped in her arms. Solas had done all the healing he could at the temple, draping his body over hers as the magic poured from him. Varric had pulled him off when it became clear Solas was reaching his breaking point. At the time he had cursed himself. This weak, newly awakened body had pathetic magic; if only he was strong again, he could save her without a second thought. He could have crushed the demon with a wave of his hand. She never would have been hurt. He thought back to his original plan; she wouldn't be in this at all if he hadn't given his orb to Corypheus. Another innocent casualty of his folly. His spirit had been disquiet on the way back to the forward camp, endless recriminations flew through his mind, even as the Inquisitions healers were astonished by his magic. She shouldn’t have lived, they said. He didn’t care what should or shouldn’t be. She would live, that was what mattered. At the time, that had been enough, that she would live. But now, he struggled to contain his rage at her risky behavior. If she had simply let him move her out of the way, she wouldn’t have nearly lost her life. He felt blood rushing through his ears as his pulse quickened. He stood abruptly from the chair, causing it to crash to the floor. He had to get out of here, at least for a while. What was wrong with him? He strode through the icy paths of Haven, pounding through his brain for answers. After awakening from his Long Sleep, he had been emotionally detached from the people of this new world. Little had moved him, at least little in this world rather than the Fade. But upon meeting this mage, he had experienced a wide gamut of feelings from irritation, to rage…well, only negative ones, but they were strong. He even recalled with some shame, feelings of arousal at her body pressed against him in the cold. But that was merely a primal reaction; any man would have felt the same. It still disturbed him. What was it about her that lit his passions in such a way? There was little time to contemplate why, as he heard a short cry come from the direction of Diana’s cabin. He walked fast, but forced himself not to break into a run. There were many people here, someone would tend to her, he didn’t need to rush. His pace still quickened. As it happens, it wasn’t her at all. A young elf came running from the house, breathing quickly and shaking slightly. “She’s awake! She’s awake! The Herald of Andraste is awake!” the lithe woman yelled it through the small square in Haven, drawing gasps from the people, some even praising the Maker in their delight. Solas slowed himself, turning around towards the herbalist’s cabin. He didn’t need to see her now. He knew Cassandra and the other advisors had wanted to speak with Diana as soon as she awoke. Settling into a chair, he shifted himself so he could observe the activity in the square, but would not be easily seen himself. The townsfolk busied themselves, gathering near the cabin, bending down on their knees to pray. They seemed to be creating a line of bodies along the street. Everyone wanted a good look at this ‘Herald of Andraste’. He wondered how Diana would react to the news? With delight no doubt. She reveled in her own power, this would just be more of the same. Not to mention her clear belief in this ‘Maker’. He recalled her tending to the charred corpses in the temple, saying prayers for those who could no longer hear, and would no longer care. A woman pious enough to do such a sacrament, would likely love to hear they were the Maker’s chosen. He felt his face twist into a sneer. She would be worse than ever. Diana had stepped gingerly out of the cabin, her mind still reeling from the revelations of the past few days. There was a throng of people lined along the streets, bowing their heads in…she didn’t know, didn’t understand what they meant. She felt ice course through her spine, and her heart hitched in her throat. What were they all doing here? She stepped back quietly, and their eyes followed her as she closed the door to the cabin. Shifting to the window, she saw they were still outside, now whispering among each other and pointing at the door. Oh Maker, what did they want? The elf girl who first came in had said nothing upon seeing her awake, just fled. What were they going to do to her? Were they waiting to kill her? She retreated to the bed, sitting on the edge and stretching out her legs and arms. She felt better than she had during their assault on the temple, healing magic and master herbalism no doubt. Death had been upon her, she knew that much. In her mind, she could still see the demon moving towards her, the elf, his name now forgotten, yelling something to her. He ran towards her, and beginning to see his plan, she brushed him aside. She had to hold this line. If she could stun the demon by destabilizing the rift, it would give the others the perfect opportunity to kill it. So, she held firm, waiting and waiting until the Breach pulsed with magic. She had let it rip her through. Felt it’s white hot claws slice her flesh like a knife plunging into overripe fruit. Her blood had gushed, soaking her robes, and she was immediately light headed. She stumbled forward, nearly falling over, but forced herself to reach back up to the Breach. Darkness was closing in around her eyes, just the smallest pinprick of light allowed her to see the Breach pulse, and then close. Close, but not seal. Her knees had finally given out, and her vision was gone. Body hitting the stone, limbs numb, breath slow and almost silent. The last thing she felt was the sting of magic flowing over her. But then she wasn’t dead. She was in the Fade, but not with the Maker. It was the ordinary Fade, that of family’s faces and friends from the Circle. A dream of comfort, when it felt there was none to be had. She was barely aware of what went on during the time. She knew someone had touched her. Felt warm, minty balm on her wounds. She had even felt herself moan lightly at someone’s touch. She was surprised, pleasantly surprised at being alive, but what was she supposed to do now? A small knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts, instinctively, she reached for the nearest object of defense, a knife left on the nightstand table. She leapt to her feet, one arm defensively over her abdomen, while she brandished the knife. The visitor knocked again. “Who- who is it,” her voice was so quiet, and she realized she hadn’t used it for days, she forced herself to speak louder, “what do you want?” Oh Maker her voice cracked. Anyone entering would know her weakness now, she griped the knife tighter. “It’s Solas,” the visitor’s voice paused. Did she know a Solas? She couldn’t remember. As if sensing her confusion, the visitor behind the door continued, “I traveled with you to the temple. The elven mage in case you have forgotten.” She breathed a sigh of relief, placing the knife back on the table and relaxing her pose. He had tried to help her before, it was unlikely that he’d kill her now. “Yes, Solas of course,” her voice was returning to its usual timber and she forced it to steady, “please come in.” The elven man stepped smoothly through the door, closing it quietly. “Why did you retreat to the cabin?” he stood stiffly at the door, arms crossed, a hint of irritation in his voice. She sat on the bed, and gestured to the chair beside her. Solas didn’t move. “What are they doing out there?” she asked, eyes darting to the window, “What do they want?” “For you to ride through town on a flaming steed no doubt.” She couldn’t help but giggle at the surprising comment, but Solas didn’t smile, and hers faded as quickly as it had come. “Pardon?” her eyebrows turned up with bemusement. “You haven’t heard what they are saying?” he asked cautiously, walking towards her. “I haven’t heard anything.” He sighed and settled into the chair, resting his elbows on his knees, “that bad huh?” she tried to smile, to lighten the mood. He looked up at her with a peculiar expression. “That depends on your perspective,” he finally said, “they are calling you the Herald of Andraste.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to play with the idea of Solas at first finding Trevelyan frustrating.


	5. Sharp Tongues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas learns another piece of Diana's personality, and struggles to decide how he feels about her.

She didn’t look pleased. One would think he had told her the crowd intended to eat her alive, rather than worship her. The moment he had told her the title, all color had drained from her face, but her voice was completely cool, completely crisp.   
“Are they now?” She visibly stiffened, and her eyes peered at him intently. It was a disturbing stare, and perhaps somewhat rude in its intensity. Her eyes were a warm brown, with hints of gold flecked through them, but that did little to loosen his jaw, which had clenched in response to her peering.   
“Indeed, they are,” he paused, trying to read her face, but she revealed nothing, “is it displeasing?”   
“It is unexpected,” her voice had taken on a sharp monotone, it was the same clinical voice she had used on the mountain, only now was he realizing how much he hated the sound, “they bend their knee too quickly.” Her eyes darted to the window; and it was true, some had indeed bended their knees to her.   
“Hmm, not the response I expected I must say,” he murmured to himself, “I would’ve thought you’d enjoy the title.” Her eyes shifted to him and narrowed, he raised an eyebrow in silent question; why was she so perturbed?   
“I don’t aspire to divinity,” her voice took on a deeper pitch, in some ways closer to a snarl, he’d clearly angered her, “the shoes of Andraste are large indeed, I wouldn’t presume to fill them.”   
“But there are many other things which you would presume, like using your magic on me” he locked eyes with her again, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. Perhaps it was unfair, to taunt her, but her arrogance and feigned humility was too much to bear. She seemed about to respond, lips curling, when he continued, “regardless, Cassandra and Leliana wish to meet you in the Chantry.” His previous critique appeared forgiven, or at least forgotten, as her curious nature emerged.   
“What do they want? I assume to talk about all this.” She gestured towards the window, and the throng of citizens lining the streets.   
“Why ask questions when the answer is already clear to you?” he glared at her, surprised at his own continued rudeness. It had been a long time since he had spoken to someone in this manner. She regarded him coldly, one eyebrow raised in contemplation.   
“It’s a mystery,” she admitted, standing and brushing her shirt gently, “just as it is a mystery why a man would needle a battered woman,” she walked to the cabin door, turning to smirk at him, as he stared in surprise, “think on it and let me know, will you?” And with that, the door closed.   
Despite her previous unease, she appeared to handle the crowd of people well; circling through the streets, kissing hands and foreheads when requested, speaking the Chant with crying women. Even those who felt wary of her, looking on her with suspicion for her magic, even they were won over merely by how she walked through the crowd. She gave the doubters space, gave a gentle bow of her head, and kept her hands within view, and limp. It was as if she knew every move that would placate them, please them, and elevate her in their eyes. This wasn’t the behavior of a figure who questioned her divinity, but one who commanded it. Then why behave in such a bizarre manner with him in the cabin? Was this the act, out in front of them all? Or had she been acting for him? And to what purpose? Solas laced his hands behind his head in frustration, letting out a tense breath. She was puzzling, but what he had learned from their discussion is that she had a witty tongue. He knew how dangerous a quick wit could be; disarming an opponent with words, was a powerful skill. It remained to been seen if she could wield her skill to greater purpose than banter in a cabin however.   
After she had reached the Chantry, the crowds began to disperse, discussing among themselves what they thought of her, the reviews mostly positive of course. He found himself wandering the hills surrounding Haven, allowing himself to speculate on the meeting within the Chantry. Cassandra certainly believed Diana was chosen, and perhaps Leliana as well. The diplomat, Josephine, was less certain, but he was sure she would spin whatever was decided to their advantage. Cullen, the commander, was the real question. He was certainly a man of faith, but this woman was a mage, and old wounds heal slowly, as he himself knew. Would he trust her with the power to split the heavens? Truly, Solas was uncertain if she was trustworthy. She was strong…but also headstrong. Intelligent…but also young, and unlikely to be wise. For every virtue she had, there seemed to be another ‘vice’ to counter it. Having walked around Haven three times, and seen the sun beginning to set, Solas was still no closer to deciding how he felt about her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is likely the shortest chapter yet, but I'm trying to end these when I feel a 'beat' of the story has been completed. I hope to develop more of a witty 'back and forth' style between the two, this is me dipping my toe into that.


	6. Stopping to Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas talks with Diana after she joins the Inquisition. The gang is in for a surprise the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading and for the Kudos! I haven't been editing these, but if I have time, I'll do some.

Upon returning to his cabin, he saw that Diana had taken up residence on a bench beside the door, idly examining her mark. He quietly sat beside her, watching her with interest, but allowing her to speak first. For a time, they merely sat in companionable silence; Diana twisting her hands, and Solas gazing at the stars. When she finally broke the quiet between them, he was unprepared.   
“I will be staying.” She said, not taking her eyes from her hands.   
“Was it in question?” he turned his gaze, willing her to look up at him, “you seem to be the only one capable of sealing rifts.” She refused to look up, but a small smile formed on her lips.  
“I suppose it wasn’t in doubt,” she smoothed her hands down her thighs “but it’s voluntary…I think that was maybe what was,” she sighed, and he realized she had been holding her breath, “in question.” Finally lifting her eyes to his, he saw her smile break into a larger grin, seemingly at nothing.   
“Why so suddenly pleased?” he asked. In response, she held up her hands triumphantly, palms facing him. The injuries to them had mostly healed, with the beginnings of callouses forming in their place.   
“I believe you’ll notice the new callouses on my hand messere?” she replied smugly, wiggling her fingers, “a good decision not to heal them magically huh?” she grinned wider. Such childish insolence, he thought, yet he still found himself smile slightly.   
“Yes, it appears to have worked in your favor this time” he offered. Looking up to her smiling face, he found himself remembering a question he had wanted to ask her since their first battle. “Speaking of injuries, your cheek,” he gestured to it, still mildly bruised, “It was broken, but I didn’t recall you receiving that wound during the battle, you seemed to come to the fight with it already...” he paused, trying to think best how to phrase his question, “and I don’t recall you having it when I examined you before…” he trailed off, not truly finishing his thought, but hoping she would fill in the details.   
“You observe me often enough to have a mental record of all my injuries?” she laughed, a sparkle in her eyes. He could feel a blush creeping up his neck.   
“In a purely professional capacity,” he said slowly, avoiding her gaze, “it has been my assignment since we found you.”   
“Yes, yes, of course, only teasing,” she was still smiling, but the sparkle in her eyes was gone, “it’s not truly important how I got this is it?” she tapped the bruise gently.   
“I’d like to know all the same,” he tried to think of a plausible reason, why he needed to know besides the bizarre feelings she aroused in him, “I may have suggestions to aid in healing.” She knew it was an excuse, the injury was already mostly healed, and she rolled her eyes.   
“It’s nothing,” she soothed, brushing away his question with the wave of her hand, “let it be.” The more she evaded him, the more certain he became that it mattered.   
“Tell me.” he said firmly, grabbing her wrist in the air. She tried to pull her hand back, but he didn’t let go, and a sigh of acquiescence escaped her lips.   
“Cassandra and I…” he felt is jaw tighten at the Seeker’s name, “we had a heated discussion before, that’s all.” He let go of her hand, and felt a rage build in his chest. They hadn’t had a discussion. Diana had been interrogated, he knew that, but he didn’t know they’d hit her. His mind immediately flashed to violence, imagining crushing the Seeker with his magic. The thought was unnerving.   
“She hurt you,” his voice was angrier than he thought, practically a growl, “I’m sorry, she shouldn’t have hit you.” He balled his hand into a fist against his leg, confused by this sudden burst of emotion. To his surprise she chuckled, adjusting the braid on her shoulder.   
“Ah this little thing? This is nothing; I was practically ripped in half by a demon remember?” She tried to smile, but her face failed her, producing a visage resembling embarrassment more than anything.   
“I remember,” he replied, his rage reinvigorated by the memory of her foolish behavior, “you nearly got yourself killed.” She looked at him with a mixture of confusion and surprise.   
“I stunned the demon,” she said slowly, “it gave you all the chance to kill it. The fact that I nearly died was…” she paused, “unfortunate timing, but my strategy was sound.” She finished, her body shifting into a more upright, defiant posture.   
“No,” he snarled, his eyes boring into her, “I could’ve saved you, and you stopped me.” Her face twisted into a frown, chin jutting out.   
“Saved me?” she repeated, “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m alive, your ‘saving’, wasn’t required.”   
“It wouldn’t have nearly torn you apart if you’d let me help!” his voice was barely above shouting.   
“It was necessary!” she was shouting, leaning towards him, “I won’t apologize for doing what I had to, what I could do, to destroy it.” Their faces were so close now, close enough that he could feel her hot breath on his skin. He had the strongest urge to grab her, to shove her up against the wall, to yell at her until she understood how reckless she’d been. But instead he pulled away from her, letting out a cautious breath. She did the same, shifting slightly away from him on the bench. For a time, they returned to silence, a much less companionable one. He could still hear her breathing; ragged and hot, her cheeks flushed, she was still angry with him. Minutes passed as her breathing settled, and her cheeks returned to a porcelain white.   
“Why did you come to speak with me?” he finally asked, refusing to look at her. She pressed her back against the wall of the cabin, stretching out her legs in front of her, wincing slightly.   
“Because,” she sighed, and it almost sounded sad, “you’re one of the only people here who I know, and I needed to use my voice after being silent for so long.” He turned again to face her, hoping to get a sense of her feelings; but she was like stone, revealing nothing in her expression.   
“You didn’t think Varric may have been a better choice?” he regretted the words immediately after he said them, knowing how it must sound.   
“Ah you mean the dwarf? Yes well, I didn’t know where to find him,” she pressed her hands into her knees, pushing herself off the bench, “but I’ll keep that in mind for next time Ser Solas.” She was already walking away before he had time to say anything more. 

They were due in the Hinterlands the next day; evidently at least one member of the Chantry was willing to consider the Inquisition. Solas was to meet up with the other members of their party at the smithy. He absentmindedly polished the end of his staff, bringing the crystal to a glowing sheen. It was still early, the sun hadn’t risen above the mountains surrounding Haven, the morning was still cloaked in darkness. The dwarf, Varric, was the second to appear, sporting the same questionable armor.   
“I don’t see how your open coat makes suitable armor Varric” Solas eyed the armor with suspicion. The dwarf laughed heartily.   
“Oh Chuckles!” he gestured to his chest, “This chest hair is weaponized, no woman can resist it.”   
“Ugh!” The Seeker had arrived, evidently, scowling at Varric, “More likely it has repellent powers.”   
“You wound me Seeker!” the dwarf replied in mock outrage.   
“We have no time for this,” the Seeker proclaimed, “where is the Herald, we must depart for the Hinterlands.”   
“It seems bizarre for her to be late…” Solas pondered, she didn’t seem a woman of shallow words.   
“Like you would know so well,” Varric chided him, “the Seeker here” he jerked his thumb towards Cassandra, “likely scared her off!” It was then that Solas recalled the harsh treatment Diana had endured under the Seeker, and he felt the anger rise in his chest again.   
“She would not,” Cassandra shook her head firmly, “she wanted to be with the Inquisition.”   
“More likely she said she did, then ran at the first chance” Varric replied.   
“That is what you would do Varric,” Cassandra sighed, “but not her.”   
Just then an Inquisition messenger ran to them, trying to catch her breath.   
“Lady Cassandra, a thousand pardons,” the messenger fell to her knee, huffing “I’m sorry, I have a message from…from the Herald ma’am!” she spoke of Diana with reverence, her voice trembling when she spoke of the ‘Herald’.   
“A message? Is she not coming to the Hinterlands?” Cassandra scowled at the messenger.   
“No ma’am, it is not that at all!” the messenger corrected quickly, her eyes wide, “She is already there, she left last night.”   
“She already left!?” the Seeker roared, “Who? Who gave her permission for this?”   
“I…I don’t believe anyone gave her permission ma’am,” the messenger stuttered, unable to meet Cassandra’s eye, “I believe she simply went.” Cassandra took some deep breaths, trying to steady herself.   
“Thank you scout, that will be all.” The relieved messenger quickly ran back to the barracks, eager to be away from the Seeker’s eye.   
“Hah! It appears our new Herald has an agenda of her own,” Varric laughed, “I suppose we should catch up to her?” He looked to Cassandra for confirmation, she nodded once.   
“I wouldn’t want to be the Herald today,” he whispered in barely contained chuckles to Solas, “the Seeker looks as if she’ll tear her apart!” Solas understood the joke, but still felt himself bristling at the thought.   
“I wouldn’t let her do that” he said seriously, a bit more seriously than he’d intended.   
“Oh Chuckles, you really know how to take a joke” Varric replied sarcastically.


	7. Clever Tongues and Gentle Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang heads to the Hinterlands, where Diana has already arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing for Varric is hard.

It was a dangerous road to the Hinterlands. Through the mountain pass, encountering bears and druffalo along the way, feet freezing in the snow, even covered in boots. Solas couldn’t imagine how the Herald could have walked the path alone. It appears he wasn’t the only one with such concerns.  
“We should be searching for her in the pass,” the Seeker said, her voice strained, “I can’t see how she made it through this alone,” she threw her fist against a nearby boulder as they paused for breath, “why did she leave?” The look in her eyes wasn’t anger now, but desperation.   
“Seeker,” Varric tried to be soothing, “she’s a skilled mage, I’m sure she made it there in one piece.”   
“We are not unskilled, and it hasn’t been an easy road” Solas reminded, his own fear growing with each problem they came across.   
“Not helping Chuckles,” Varric spoke over his shoulder, “we’ll find her at the Crossroads, I’m sure.” He seemed to be trying to convince himself, as much as any of them. Thus, they continued, keeping their minds off the Herald, as much as was possible; focusing on the rocky terrain, the switch from snow to dirt, and finally to grass as they arrived in the Hinterlands. The sun was high when they came to the Crossroads. Refugees lay injured across the area, few had blankets, even fewer had food. Thousands displaced by the Mage-Templar conflict.   
“Mother Giselle was to be tending the injured,” Cassandra said firmly, “ideally, that is where the Herald will be as well.” They stopped a few times, asking the refugees about the Mother; finally, one of them knew where the injured were being tended. It wasn’t much of a hospital that they came across, Solas couldn’t even see if an herbalist was in attendance.   
“Seeker Cassandra,” a Mother in her mid-thirties approached her, “it is good to see you here. The Herald arrived this morning,” Cassandra’s face softened in relief, “I assume you would like to see her?”   
“Yes, yes of course Revered Mother. Have you already discussed our issues with the Chantry?”   
“Yes, this was the first thing we spoke of,” the Mother smiled, “but she had other duties to attend; our discussion was brief.”   
“Other duties?” Solas interjected, confused. The Mother turned to him in surprise, but spoke kindly.  
“We have many wounded here, and so few to care for them. The Herald came with healing herbs, and…” the Mother paused, uncertain if she should continue, “and magic.”   
“She’s been tending the refugees?” Cassandra seemed surprised, “we hadn’t discussed that.” Mother Giselle seemed to ignore the comment.   
“If you wish to see her, you may go through” she gestured to a cabin a few feet away, with a line of refugees outside. Cassandra took the lead, walking with purpose to the cabins door, and throwing it open.   
Diana’s hands were hovering over an injured man. He seemed uneasy.   
“Please miss, I don’t want any of that,” he grimaced at her, “that magic!” he spat the word.   
“It will ease your pain,” Diana spoke softly, but didn’t perform any magic, “you need not fear good man,” he still looked uncertain, she began applying a herbal ointment, which he would accept. “How were you injured?”   
“It was a demon,” he stuttered, “summoned by one of those apostates,” again spitting the word at her, Solas felt his hands clench, “nearly tore my wife in half!”   
“And you stood between her?” Diana asked gently, rubbing the ointment into his wound.  
“Of course,” he replied, somewhat indignant, “men got to protect their family,” he paused, “against evil magics.” He glared at Diana, and Solas felt a rage surge through his blood. Such an ungrateful man. The started to step forward, but the Seeker held him back.   
“We will let her finish this treatment,” the Seeker whispered quietly, “she is nearly done I can see.” Solas fumed, he had not stepped forward to stop her, but to silence him. But he waited, nothing to be gained by fighting the Seeker on this.   
“Arise, Aegis of the Faith. You are not forgotten. Neither man nor Maker shall forget your bravery. So long as I remember.” Diana spoke with reverence, and smiled at the injured man, “So Andraste spoke to Havard, and now I say the same to you.”   
“You know the Chant?” the man seemed surprised   
“Of course. That was the Canticle of Apotheosis,” she said; Solas sensed she was beginning to charge her magic.   
“So, you’re…” he paused, trying to find the words, “you’re a good magicker? Not those apostate types eh?”   
“Magic should serve man, and never rule over him,” she said in response, nodding her head, “let my magic serve you, please let me ease your pain?” she asked.   
“I…” he sighed, “yes, thank you miss, for your kindness.” He flushed in shame as she let her magic roll over him; waves of cool healing, knitting his torn flesh. “I am in your debt,” he said as the pain eased.   
“Your recovery is all I require in payment, go to your family.” She smiled as he left.   
“Seems you missed your calling as a healer,” Varric sauntered forward, chuckling slightly, “turned him around quick enough.” Diana smirked at Varric.   
“There is no magic quite as potent as a clever tongue.” Her smirk faded as she caught a glimpse at Cassandra. “Seeker, I apologize for my early departure. I simply knew of the devastation here, the lack of healers…”She clasped her hands together, twisting them slightly, “I thought I could fill in, just until we find some local help” she added quickly, trying to gauge the Seeker’s response.   
“It is…” Cassandra sighed, defeated, “not a problem; but inform us next time, we can equip you with an entourage, the path through the mountains shouldn’t be traveled alone.”   
“How did you manage through such terrain?” Solas interrupted, stepping closer to Diana, “It was an exceedingly foolish risk.” Diana’s face contorted into a firm line upon hearing the word foolish.   
“I’ve lived in the Hinterlands, Ser Solas,” and there was that moniker again, it seems to grate his nerves whenever she said it, “I know how to navigate myself.” She spared but a glance on him, before returning her gaze to the Seeker. “Mother Giselle believes we should go to Val Royeaux, show them we are not heretics to be feared.” She looked to the Seeker in a silent question.   
“That could be managed,” Cassandra replied, her brow furrowed in thought, “but we may need to prove ourselves before we travel.” Diana walked to Cassandra, leading her out of the cabin.   
“I have some thoughts on that matter,” Diana paused, “if you would like to hear them?”   
“Of course, anything you know would be helpful.”   
“Mother Giselle tells me that rogue templars and…apostates,” she grimaced at the word, “are terrorizing the area, if we constrain them, where the Chantry has not…” Diana let her voice trail, allowing the Seeker to fill in the details.   
“That may gain us some standing in the city,” Cassandra agreed, “do you have information on their location?”   
“I’m afraid I’m not informed on that count,” Diana ran a hand through her scalp, “perhaps we may find some correspondence on…any casualties.”   
“You mean any maddened mages and templars we happen to kill?” Varric interjected, pushing between the Seeker and Diana.  
“We may not need to resort to killing,” Solas said, “they may listen to reason.” But Diana was already shaking her head.   
“These are not mages or templars like we know,” she grimaced, her voice hard, “they attack bystanders, mad with power. They won’t listen.” Solas frowned.  
“You’re certain of all this?” he said snidely, “why investigate when the Herald just knows?”   
“I speculate that they won’t listen Ser Solas,” her voice was clinical again, “if they do, I will be pleased to be wrong,” she took a deep breath, “I will be certain to qualify any hypotheses I make in the future.”   
“Hahaaha wow,” Varric laughed as they walked through the Crossroads, “will we need to separate you two?”   
“For once,” Cassandra smirked, “I find myself agreeing with Varric.”   
“We are being plenty civil Cassandra,” Diana sighed, “just discussing our options I believe.”   
“Indeed Seeker,” Solas responded, “I’m sure our Herald is eager for the council of her followers.”   
“Followers?” she laughed, “Ser Solas, if anything I am a follower of our dear Seeker,” They all turned to Diana, Varric’s eyebrow lifted in an expression of amusement, “just because you all happen to be behind me at this moment,” she turned around to face them, “doesn’t mean you are followers.”   
“Whatever you need to tell yourself” Varric snickered. Diana’s eyes narrowed and she shot a glance at Cassandra, jerking her head to the side. Cassandra sighed, moving to take point, as Diana fell back.   
“You have no wish to lead?” Solas asked her quietly, as their steps synched together.  
“No,” she replied sternly, “I have no interest,” she paused, and a small smile creeped into her lips, “and likely little ability.” She spoke softly, so that Varric and Cassandra, bickering ahead as they did, wouldn’t overhear.   
“I doubt that very much,” Solas replied easily, “a woman of formidable skill, a clever tongue, and the supposed blessing of a prophet, could conquer much.” Her spine stiffened in response, but there was otherwise no change.   
“That would not be a case of ‘ability’ on my part Ser Solas, but of taking advantage…” she looked at him seriously, “I won’t use their faith as a tool of self-aggrandizement.”   
“Knowing your people,” he replied, “I find that unlikely.” She merely grunted in response, her need for conversation evidently satisfied.   
She was a capable mage, that much was clear. Her arcs of lightning leapt from person to person, finally finishing her opponent with a hard smash from the bayoneted end of her staff. Crouching, she searched their pockets for information, gear, potions, anything of use. The Seeker stood apart, a look of revulsion marking her face.   
“Must we pillage the dead?” she asked with some disgust.  
“They don’t need it anymore,” Diana said sensibly, continuing her examination, “besides, sometimes,” she lifted a note from the corpse, “we find something we need. Instructions to the apostate mage caverns.” She stood quickly, folding the note into her pocket. “We should go there now, before they decide to move.” Cassandra nodded, apparently all concern about ‘corpse-looting’ having been assuaged by the new find.   
“You really have some talent with that lightning, Slick” Varric padded over to Diana, tapping her thigh.   
“Slicker?” she chuckled, “my new nickname I take it?”   
“Eh I was trying it out, but I’m not so sure it suits you”  
“Thank the Maker,” she smiled, “didn’t relish being called that across the barracks.”   
“You think they’d put you in the barracks?” Varric howled, laughing hard.   
“And why wouldn’t they?” she asked in genuine surprise.   
“Sweetie, a woman like you shouldn’t be in barracks”  
“What do you mean by a woman like me?” she had stopped, looking to Varric, her brows drawn in confusion.   
“What? I know you grew up in the Circle but you can’t be that...” Cassandra cut him off, jabbing him with her armored elbow.   
“We wouldn’t put a lady, particularly one who may have the Maker’s favor, in a shared room.” Cassandra said, with surprising diplomacy, as she glared at Varric.   
“Yeah, yeah, that’s it” Varric grumbled, rolling his eyes slightly.   
“Alright….” Diana didn’t sound entirely convinced, but accepted the explanation. She dashed ahead, crouching low as she scouted for signs of the apostates.   
“Is she for real?” Varric whispered to Cassandra.   
“Not all of us are so…” Cassandra’s face twisted into one of slight disgust, “worldly.” Varric chuckled at her expression.   
“Seeker, there’s not being worldly, and then there’s….” he gestured to Diana, who was currently stretching, apparently oblivious of how her breasts pressed against the fabric of her robes, sweat glistening down her exposed calf; Solas felt himself beginning to sweat under his collar, “that! Who is that sheltered?” She spread her legs wide, stretching down to touch the ground; he felt himself shiver.   
“Herald,” he called, and her body snapped back up in response, “we should keep moving, I believe?”   
“Yes, of course Ser Solas,” she huffed, straightening her robes, “my apologies for the delay.” She moved into a jog, the others running behind her, as they approached the first landmark on their way to the apostate cove.


	8. Sniping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang destroys the apostate and templar presence in the Hinterlands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Varric is still hard to write. There will be some smutty stuff in the next chapter, I promise!

The apostate cavern was cold, unnaturally so, as they had infused the entrance in frost magic. It had permeated the walls, drawing heat from all their bodies. Corpses drained of blood hung from the ceilings, garroted and pierced with iron hooks. The was little stench, the frost magic had preserved their tortured bodies. Some had their tongues removed, others had eyes pulled from their sockets; perhaps the components of some horrific ritual. Blood coated the walls, but had frozen into hideous crystalline.   
“Solas,” Diana whispered at his side, crouched in preparation for the fight to come, silently casting a preemptive barrier around the party, “do you think they might wish to talk instead? Perhaps more investigation is due hmm?” He whipped his head to face her, a smirk growing on her lips in the darkness.   
“Now? You are truly going to do this now?” he hissed at her in the darkness. She merely raised an eyebrow in response, her smirk still firmly in place, turning her attention back to the cabal of mages. He silently fumed beside her, trying to quash his feelings in preparation for the battle ahead. She took a few steps ahead, charging her magic, and unleashing a whip of lighting, flying through the crowd of mages. They turned immediately to her, unleashing a fury of ice spells. Instinctively, he stepped in front of her, blocking the ice magic with a thrust of fire from his staff. She shot him a quick glace of confusion before leaping back into the fray. Cassandra rushed in, silencing the surrounding casters, as Varric pinned them down. Diana slashed through the crowd, swinging the bladed end of her staff through their necks. Blood spluttered through the air, as she cracked another line of lighting through them.   
“Rather messy for a mage,” Solas critiqued, brushing some debris from the bottom of his robes, “perhaps you could use some extra training, if you must whirl through the crowd with a blade.” She shot him an annoyed look.   
“Perhaps if other members of our party weren’t so hesitant to enter the fray, I wouldn’t need to ‘whirl through the crowd’ as you put it.”   
“Are you questioning my contributions?” Solas asked with some anger leaking from his voice.   
“I’m not questioning them. I’m disregarding them,” she said coolly, examining the mages bodies, “As they haven’t been all that useful, particularly that little stunt where you jumped in front of me,” she paused, taking a moment to look up at him, her face an expressionless mask, “what was that about exactly? You call me reckless? Hmphf.” She resumed checking the bodies, and a bright red tinge stained his checks. She had noticed. Of course, she noticed his bizarre behavior. Why had he jumped in front of her? She was insufferable. Painfully arrogant, wretchedly snide, agonizingly beautiful…. that last thought disturbed him the most. Solas was pulled from his thoughts by a whimper from the corner of the cave. Diana and Cassandra immediately focused to the sound; Cassandra’s hand reaching for the pommel of her sword.   
“Please don’t kill me! I’ll…I can…I can defend myself!” he was just a child, cowering in the corner, tears streaming down his face. The boy had magic, Solas could sense it. They approached him slowly; Diana put her hands slightly above her head, but the Seeker’s grip stayed firmly on her sword hilt.   
“It’s all okay,” Diana said soothingly, “we won’t hurt you.” The boy screamed louder as they approached.   
“No! No, you hurt them I saw, you’ll hurt me too!” he began to shake, as the tears streamed down his face faster.   
“No please!” Diana yelled, breaking into a run towards the corner of the cave. It was too late, the boy slammed up against the wall as his skin bubbled, an inhuman screech exploded from his throat as his mouth turned inside out, consuming his head in the process. His limbs tore open as spines of stinking flesh burst forth. Blackened blood spilled from his body as the demon took hold. The boy was an abomination. The Seeker was first to strike, engaging her blade with the creature’s neck, looking for a clean kill. But this abomination wasn’t so easily vanquished, dodging the blow with frightening speed. Diana shocked it into place, leaving it jiggling, but paralyzed. Solas continued his ice attacks, and Varric pinned the demon down, giving it a hard bash with the side of his crossbow. It made a fast swipe to Diana, with Solas enacting a barrier around her in the nick of time. She shot him a surprised glance as the Seeker finally ended the demon, plunging a sword through its chest. The abomination collapsed into a pile of ashes, a final screech signaling its end. Diana crouched down to the creature, crossing a symbol through the air as she whispered a prayer.   
“It was a demon,” the Seeker said coldly, “it had to die.” Diana looked up at her, face devoid of emotion.   
“Of course, Seeker,” she turned her eyes back to the pile of ashes, “merely saying a prayer for the boy’s soul. He…” she paused, sighing deeply, “he would’ve been safe if only...” She stood abruptly then, seemingly all interest in the boy abandoned. “We should leave now yes? Still have the rogue templars to finish.” Everyone nodded in agreement, but the rest of their journey was otherwise silent, all of them reflecting on the boy.   
Luckily, no such horrors awaited them in the templar encampment. Diana seemed to struggle with them more than the mages previously, sustaining a minor shoulder wound from their commander.   
“Would’ve thought you’d be good at fighting templars Magey?” Varric joked, eyeing Diana with a smile.   
“Magey? Varric your quest for my nickname must be stopped,” she laughed, “and why would you think I was skilled at fighting templars? I lived in the Circle Varric.”   
“Well yeah, but during the uprising, you must have fought them some, learned things?”   
“No…not really. Unfortunately, I fought more of my own brethren than the templars…” she breathed in sharply, “it would be better to discuss something else Varric, like nicknames for Cassandra perhaps?” she grinned at him wickedly, deftly changing the topic. Varric, of course, took the bait.   
“Oh no the Seeker? Her name is just Seeker.”   
“I can hear you both you know” Cassandra said with some mild irritation. Having cleared the templars and mages from the area, more refugees crowded to the Crossroads, all desperate for food and shelter. The spent the rest of the day hunting down food for the villagers, and pilfering blankets from apostate caches. It was surprisingly tiring work, and by the time the sun set behind the clouds, Solas found himself more than ready for his evening jaunt to the Fade. The other companions appeared to agree, as even Varric was silent during their evening meal around the fire, all of them eager for the embrace of a bedroll.   
“It appears now the only question is how to divide the tents” Cassandra yawned, pulling off the heavier pieces of her armor.   
“Well you and Varric together of course,” Diana snickered, undoing her braid, “and I suppose I’ll sleep outside of Solas’s tent like a dog, considering what a bitch he thinks I am.” Varric howled with laughter and even Cassandra giggled a bit.   
“I never said any such thing” Solas responded, trying to contain the hint of a smile forming on his lips.   
“I do believe you’ve nearly drawn a smile from our resident sourpuss!” Varric exclaimed, giving Diana a winning grin.   
“Ah only nearly?” she shook her head in mock disappointment, “I’ll get you one of these days Ser Solas.” His heart skipped a beat as she said his name, palms suddenly going clammy.   
“As fun as this is,” the Seeker interrupted, fully out of her heavy plate now, “we should get some rest.” Diana nodded in agreement, a yawn escaping her lips. Of course, the women were going to bunk together.   
“Chuckles,” Varric sighed, stretching out in his bed roll, “why are you so hard on the kid? She seems pleasant enough to me, if a bit naïve.” Solas turned to the dwarf, adjusting in his own bedroll.   
“She is arrogant, she is presumptuous,” he was on a roll now, listing every fault that came to mind, “her cold, clinical tone is infuriating, she has no respect for her elders” Solas continued until the dwarf held up his hand, laughing.   
“Alright, Chuckles alright, you don’t get on, it isn’t a love-match, got it. Maybe we should get some sleep huh?”   
Solas turned onto his back, running his hands over his scalp. This woman was causing problems.


	9. Voices in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas experiences an unusual dream, and awakens to an unexplained attack.

“Solas,” she whispered, her thin fingers running down his chest, her mouth pressing wet kisses into the crook of his neck, “please touch me, Solas.” He was stiff under her hands, trying not to look at her.   
“Why are you here?” he gritted his teeth  
“Because you want me to be,” she whispered in his ear, and a shiver went down his spine, “because you want me to touch you like this.” She brushed her hand down his abdomen, lingering a bit above his member. An unwilling moan escaped his lips. She brought his earlobe between her lips, sucking and biting lightly, as his breaths became hot under her touch.   
“Stop this.” He could barely make himself say the words as she ran her fingers down his back, another moan of pleasure escaped his lips.   
“I can’t stop vhenan,” he inhaled sharply at the word, as it sent a wave of pleasure through his body, “not when you want me to continue.” The spirit pulled herself closer to him. He felt her naked form press against him, as she continued to plant kisses down his neck.   
“Please,” he moaned, pushing her away with the last of his willpower, “it isn’t right, not even here.” The spirit was undeterred, bringing her hands to cup his face, their foreheads coming together.   
“It feels right,” she whispered, letting her eyes gaze into his, “this might be the only chance we have.” His will broke at that moment, his lips crushing into hers, hands finally exploring the curves of her body. He lifted her into his arms, as she wrapped her legs around his waist. She reached the loosen the ties around his breeches when a sound from the ether interrupted them. It was barely a whisper; he lowered the spirit, straining to hear the voice in the shadows.   
“Solas…. please…” It was Diana, she was calling in his dream, but how? There was little time to consider, the voice was fading. He woke with a start, having forced his mind from the Fade considering the strange call. Sitting in the darkness he could hear whispering outside the tents. He tentatively grabbed his staff, slowly pulling back the fabric of the tent to reveal their campsite.   
Diana was pressed up against a tree, holding her staff defensively against an intruder. It appeared this intruder was also a mage, and was slowly advancing on her. The field, once clear, now contained multiple mutilated bodies; perhaps former companions of the currently advancing mage. Solas moved slowly, trying not to alert the intruder to his presence; if he could finish him silently, he could get to Diana faster. She was so pale, undoubtedly, she had an open wound somewhere, her life draining away by the moment.   
“You betrayed us,” the mage hissed, closing in on Diana like a snake preparing to feast, “have you no loyalty to your people?” Her teeth clenched, an almost guttural growl escaping her lips.   
“You are not my people.” She charged her magic first, throwing a bolt of lightning at the intruder. But he was prepared, shielding himself from the worst of the magic, then moving to swipe his staff blade across her neck. It was now that Solas chose to strike, encasing the mage in a prison of ice, then harshly shoving his staff through the form, shattering it.   
“Just in time” Diana breathed, as her legs finally gave out. Solas ran to her side, preforming a rudimentary check of her body. There were no new injuries; her old abdominal wound, still in the process of healing, had torn open again, and was now gushing blood into the grass. He ran his hands over it, as she cried quietly in response, letting his magic knit the tortured flesh back together.   
“Yes, thankfully the pathetic contributions from a mage such as myself, managed to save your life,” he paused for effect, “again.” She groaned, but didn’t move as he continued the ebb of his healing magic.   
“You’re an ass,” she grumbled, “but an honest one. I apologize for my earlier comment, it was,” she grimaced as a particularly raw portion of her skin came back together, “unworthy of me.”   
“On the contrary,” Solas chuckled, “it was very in keeping with your general behavior.” She sniffed at the comment, but didn’t argue.   
“I am thankful that you came when you did,” she paused, a smile creeping into her face, “especially so because I know your feelings towards me aren’t quite friendly.” He was forced to nod his head at that. If only she knew how wrong his feelings about her were. Hating and loving, attracted and repulsed. It was too much for one man to handle.   
“I can’t take all the credit for my good timing,” he sighed, removing his hands from her now healed flesh, “I seem to recall someone reaching out to me in the Fade,” his brow furrowed slightly, “how did you do that exactly?” She shook her head in response, absently adjusting her hair.   
“I’m not sure. I’ve never could call to someone who was in the Fade before,” her eyes narrowed in contemplation, “perhaps the mark changes things? I tried to touch your mind, and I suppose it worked, although I wasn’t sure it would until I saw you exit the tent,” she sighed in frustration, “I’m afraid I have no answers.”   
“You, having no comment on something?” he held out a hand to help her off the ground, “this is a first.” She scowled at him, but there was no fire in it.   
“Quite the comedian you are this evening,” she accepted his hand, grimacing as she stood, “I suppose Varric and Cassandra are still asleep?” He nodded in agreement, leading her back to her tent. “Oh no, thank you Ser Solas, but I don’t believe I can sleep after that.” She walked towards the cooling embers of their campfire, bringing it back to life with a quick flick of her wrist. He hesitated at his own tent for a moment. It was unlikely he could sleep again either, and with a sigh, he joined her by the fire.   
Silence suited them as a pair, and he was reluctant to break it. When they weren’t talking, her presence was almost pleasant. He realized that they had moved closer together, evidently, she found their relationship was improved in the quiet as well. But his curiosity regarding the attack, would wait no longer.   
“Herald,” he addressed her coolly, gently turning his head to face her, “who were these people?” His eyes scanned over the bodies, seven in all littered the campsite.   
“They were old acquaintances,” she replied, face as unreadable as ever, “from the Ostwick Circle, before it fell.”   
“That doesn’t explain why they came here.”   
“You didn’t ask me to explain that,” she regarded him plainly, “you only asked who they were; you have your answer.” She turned her face back to the fire, seemingly unperturbed by the attempt on her life.   
“I think you owe me a greater explanation than that”   
“I owe you nothing” her calm tone of voice galled him nearly as much as the response itself.   
“Nothing? I saved your life” he said firmly, the irritation rising in his voice.   
“And what?” she laughed harshly, “that entitles you to a life history? Does saving my life only matter because of what information you can buy with it?” She was horribly relaxed for the kind of conversation they were having. Making such a foul accusation with the same tone as if she were requesting a sip of water.   
“That’s what you think?” he hissed, no longer attempting to hide his anger, “Must you be so wretched? I saved you because it was right, because I had to, because I wouldn’t leave a woman to die, even one such as you.” His voice had become practically a shout, and his hand had moved to firmly gripping her shoulder, forcing her to turn to look at him.  
“Then I owe you nothing,” she repeated, matter-of-factly, shoving his hand off her shoulder, “I only owe you something, if you wouldn’t have saved me without reward. Knowing that you were merely following your conscience, means you require no reward, and means that I am under no obligation to offer you one.” His face twisted into a sneer at her logical, albeit extremely unfriendly response.   
“You are an inimical woman,” he said, turning back to face the fire, “it is unwise for one in your position.”   
“I am a private woman,” she corrected, still serene despite the nature of their conversation, “which on the contrary, is a wise decision for one in my position,” she shifted slightly, risking a glance at him from under her lashes, “I would’ve believed an elven apostate, would understand the value of privacy.” He didn’t respond, and she returned her eyes to the fire. Silence again fell around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so I sort of lied, still pretty much no smut. I guess I just prefer to write them verbally assaulting each other?


	10. Learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas learns something about the Herald, that he never would have suspected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's an.....itsy bitsy teeny weeny, Solas/Trelly scene-er-eny, that i posted for the first time today. 
> 
>  
> 
> Very itsy bitsy.

They spent the next two weeks in the Hinterlands. There was much turmoil there, and thus, a great deal for them to do. Diana’s wounds had the proper time to heal, even as she continued to refuse Solas’s orders for greater rest and rehabilitation. Cassandra and she would converse nightly on their plans, with Diana mostly listening, occasionally providing brief commentary. The Seeker was on excellent terms with the mage, and they spent most of their time together; discussing the politics of the Circle, the Chantry, the proper uses of magic. They seemed to never tire of it. Solas wasn’t privy to most of these conversations, and thus still had little idea of Diana’s opinions on any of these matters.   
She took great interest in ancient runes and fortresses, having taken to recording notes as they passed through older sites. Her leather journal was soon full to bursting with dried plant samples, hand drawn representations of landmarks and ancient rune magic, her own theories listed alongside. Her relationship with him, as much as there was one, consisted primarily of magical practice, and the incidental barbed comment. He had thankfully been spared from any dreams involving her since the attack on camp; but his eyes still trailed after her on the battlefield. She still captivated him during the day, but the nights, were blessedly free from her presence.   
“You know,” Varric murmured one day, as they entered the Crossroads, finally preparing to leave the Hinterlands, “I would’ve thought you and Chuckles would be thick as thieves.”   
“Why? Because we both have magic?” Diana responded, absently twirling her staff.   
“Not just that, you have similar mannerisms, similar schedules.” She raised an eyebrow quizzically. “You both awaken far too early, obsess over elven magic far too much,” Diana appeared to roll her eyes, “not to mention all that whispering stuff when we find runes.”   
“Whispering stuff?” Diana repeated, not really paying attention.   
“Yeah, whenever you come across runes, you both furrow your brows and start whispering, before Chuckles tells us what it says. Is it just a mage thing?”   
“I am merely translating to myself before I inform the group,” Solas interjected, regarding the dwarf, “I can’t say what purpose her whispering serves” he gestured to Diana dismissively with the wave of his hand.   
“The same purpose, of course Ser Solas” she replied, still more focused on her staff than the current discussion.   
“Wait,” Solas jogged up to her position, stopping her in her tracks, “you’re translating? That’s not possible” he huffed.   
“Ma nuvenin,” she said sarcastically, before brushing past him, “as you say,” she elaborated, providing the translation for Varric and Cassandra.   
“But you’re human?” Solas continued, keeping pace with her as his confusion grew.   
“And the dwarf has no beard, crazy I know” she replied, shooting a humorous glance at Varric.   
“Don’t bring me into this Zappy” Varric laughed, raising his arms in mock defense.   
“Zappy?” she sighed, “Varric, that’s the worst one yet, please no more.”  
“Indeed, please refrain” Cassandra added.   
“If we may direct the conversation back to the matter at hand,” Solas suggested, “how do you know elven? Any elven?”   
“The Circle had many tomes on the Elven language; many of our rarest books of magical theory were written entirely in elven” she replied, as they began on the long road back to Haven, “it was an area of particular interest for me.”   
“You studied elven magic?” Solas repeated, nearly dumbfounded, “in the Circle?”   
“Oh, this is too good,” she grinned maliciously, “am I exceeding your expectations of poor oppressed circle mages?” she laughed, “after all, we couldn’t possibly have the experience and knowledge an apostate such as yourself would possess.” Her face was twisted into a sarcastic smile, one eyebrow raised in a silent taunt. She had been waiting to spring this on him.   
“Honestly, no,” he replied huffily, “I don’t see how you could. Templars wouldn’t favor mages becoming too close with spirits.”   
“For one so separate from the Chantry and the Circles, you seem to know a great deal about how they all must be run,” Diana remarked, her voice dripping with derision, “After all, it is not as though the Circle has libraries filled with Ancient tevene and elven works on the nature of the Fade, as well as contemporary research. No, we Circle mages,” she waved her hand with a flourish, “spend most of our time praying to the Maker, lighting ceremonial candles, and drooling.” She looked pleased with herself, surveying the faces of Varric and Cassandra as they hiked: Varric trying poorly to stifle his laughter, while Cassandra appeared in shock. Solas himself was having some difficulty forming a worthy rebuttal to such scoffing.   
“You truly believe a mage of the Circle could be well educated in magics beyond those for crass destruction or rudimentary healing? You are either a fool or a liar,” he paused, searching for a comment he knew would hurt her most, “Or perhaps you are so devoid of original thought, that all you can spout is Chantry propaganda.”   
“Enough!” Cassandra stormed up to them, her voice firm, “from the both of you. This bickering is pointless.” She shot Diana a look that Solas couldn’t quite comprehend, but it seemed to silence the haughty mage.   
“My sincere apologies, Seeker,” Diana indicated her head gently, but her narrowed eyes remained fixed on Solas, “and you, dear arcane advisor,” she gestured to him, “I didn’t mean to bring discomfort upon you.” She didn’t sound sorry in the least.   
“You did not,” Solas insisted, “I have experience with petulant da’len” he risked smirking at her, and was rewarded with a small quiver of irritation in her lips. Cassandra groaned in annoyance, waving them on towards Haven. It seems that he and Diana had again led the party into silence. But Solas swore he heard Diana whisper something under her breath.   
“Dirthara-ma.”


	11. Preparing for Val Royeaux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana plans for the trip to Val Royeaux. Bickering between Solas and herself is still in high gear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been really avoiding writing for awhile. Got up a lil inspiration for a tiny chapter.

The next few days were a flurry of activity; preparing for their visit to Val Royeaux. The clerics were united in opinion against the new Inquisition, but Mother Giselle had hopes that a visit from the Herald herself could sway some of the more uncertain members of the Chantry. Solas wasn’t surprised at this turn of events; upon meeting the Herald, many people revised their opinions on the supposed heretical nature of the Inquisition. Regardless of her claims, it was the people’s belief in her divinity that gave the Inquisition any standing. 

His role in the city would primarily be one of careful guarding. The clerics and nobles had no interest in an elf, and none would suspect his martial skill. Thus, he would be disguised as a servant, ostensibly there to help tend to the needs of the Herald. He was the last line of defense between her, and any would-be assassins. Other precautions were in place: the Seeker would not be unarmed, nor the dwarf, and Cullen had a selection of low profile soldiers who would patrol the square. Diana had found the entire notion ridiculous. He had overheard her speaking with Leliana, and the Inquisition diplomat, Josephine, in the Chantry that morning. 

“This is absurd,” the Herald declared, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall, “we aren’t mounting a siege. Just a civilized talk with some Chantry officials.”   
“You do recall that many of these Chantry officials have been requesting your head?” Leliana replied, looking over maps of the city.   
“Yes, yes, but without their templars, they are powerless to take it.”   
“Not all the templars openly rebelled against the Chantry, a scant few may remain,” Leliana reminded, regarding the Herald coolly, “and even a few could pose a problem.”   
“Unlikely,” Diana sighed, audibly frustrated, “indiscriminate murder is not exactly within the templars purview.” Cullen laughed humorlessly from the corner.   
“I wish I could agree with you, but the Order is not the same as it once was,” he approached the Herald, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder, “let us do what we must to protect you.” Solas bristled at the contact, the sickly sense of jealously rising in his throat.   
“Best to exercise caution in the face of uncertainty.” Solas commented, drawing Diana’s gaze. Cullen had removed his hand, as the Herald sighed in acquiescence.   
“I suppose,” she shook her head, still not entirely convinced, “if Cassandra thinks it best, I will of course comply.” She smiled lightly at the Seeker.   
“I am not your jailor you understand?” Cassandra said humorlessly.   
“Of course not, but you essentially lead this Inquisition.” Diana responded, pushing herself from the wall.   
“Hah!” the Seeker exclaimed, “Hardly.” The conversation seemed to die down then, with each of them pursuing their respective tasks. The Herald approached Solas, walking fluidly.   
“Ser Solas would you,” his face immediately twisted into a scowl, and she sighed in exasperation, “Must you always scowl at me? I was merely going to ask if you wished to engage in some magical practice. Hardly an unreasonable request.” Her lips were contorted into a frustrated sneer. He grumbled.   
“It’s simply the honorific you choose to employ, it is inappropriate.” She regarded him curiously.   
“You mean ‘ser’? How is that inappropriate?”   
“It is a human designation. I am an elf, and an apostate, not a ‘ser’” She huffed at his response, shaking her head.   
“It’s not a ‘human designation’, merely a title of respect,” her lips twitched into a playful smile, “unless you’d prefer a disrespectful honorific? Rabbit, perhaps?” she laughed coldly.   
“Ah, and your bigotry finally emerges,” he replied curtly, “how long have you wished to say that to me?” She laughed again, running a hand through her hair. But her humor faltered as she saw he remained cold.   
“I was kidding, Solas.” She said more seriously.   
“Were you?” he replied harshly, blood still boiling at the epithet.   
“Of course!” she exclaimed, her brows forming a deep v, “I lived in the Circle, it isn’t like that.” Her voice was low now, pleading in its sincerity. He felt his anger replaced with some degree of curiosity.   
“What would you being a Circle mage have anything to do with it?”   
“Do you truly not know?” her gaze softened, as she regarded his features, “There is no difference between elves and humans in the Circle. I mean, for the Maker’s sake, the Grand Enchanter was an elf.”   
“Was? Is Fiona not still the Grand Enchanter?” She sighed, walking out of the Chantry, as he joined lockstep bedside her.   
“Without the Circle, such a title holds no meaning. She is simply a mage now,” she looked sadly into the distance, thoughts unreadable, “either way, now that this little misunderstanding is cleared up,” she turned to him, shifting her weight, “would you care to practice with me? My skills in battle-magic still leave much to be desired.” He felt a smile creeping into his lips. She was passable in battle, but hardly an expert.   
“Certainly, although I’m surprised you would care to practice with me.”   
“There are few mages here,” she said coolly, as they walked to an unoccupied part of Haven, “and Cullen is needed by the troops more than myself.” Solas felt himself bristle at the commander’s name.   
They found a quiet place in Haven, away from any villagers who would fear their magic. He stepped a few paces away from her, stretching slightly as she twirled her staff.   
“It seems bizarre for a mage to consider spending their free time with a templar” he said crisply, the vile poison of jealousy still resting in the pit of his stomach. She laughed, stretching her arms.  
“Hardly. Much of my life has been spent with templars.”  
“In the Circle perhaps, but now that you have a choice…” She cut him off, her eyes turning stern.   
“I don’t hate templars, Solas; they have a purpose” she paused, taking a deep breath, “and the kind ones understand the burden of magic.”   
“The burden?” he spat, shocked at her response, “you see magic as a burden?”   
“As well as a gift,” she said quickly, “All great gifts come with burdens. With power, comes responsibility,” He grimaced, he couldn’t entirely argue with that. “This is hardly the time for such discussions,” she said quietly, “perhaps we can focus on our original task?” He nodded in agreement. There would be time to debate later. 

They began training with brief summoning, drawing wisps to the ends of their staves. But such simple tasks weren’t why she had requested training; Solas cautiously tapped his staff to the ground, drawing her eyes to his.   
“Should we spar?” her eyebrows raised in surprise, and he elaborated, “it would be the most effective practice for your battle magic.”  
“Not just looking for an excuse to kick my teeth in then?” She smirked at him, already twisting her hands around her staff.  
“An enjoyable side benefit” he allowed himself to smile, and she laughed. It was a warm, inviting laugh; different from their usual bickering. And it seemed, in the flow of their mock battle, they found some degree of understanding.


	12. The Lord Seeker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting with the templars in Val Royeaux doesn't go as planned. Solas and Diana turn over a new leaf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty much unedited. Let me know if you catch any mistakes. Thank you so much for anybody still reading! You guys are so patient its amazing.

“What is the meaning of this?” Diana snarled at the templar, her eyes burning with rage. 

“Her claim to authority is an insult, much like your own.” The Seeker dismissed her with a wave of his hand, bringing the templars to heel behind him. Cassandra began to object, but Solas was barely listening to her words, positioned at the other end of the courtyard, he kept his eyes peeled for archers in the buildings above; Leliana had warned that such an attack would not be unprecedented, even in the capital.   
Diana had shifted her attention away from the Lord Seeker, even as Cassandra still tried to draw his gaze, as they followed him and his knights. 

“Templars! The Inquisition would welcome you, Cullen and Lysette, templars as devoted as yourselves are among us.” Diana held her palms in front of her, a gesture of peace, bowing her body in slight reverence, “Join us! Do your Maker-blessed duty, seal the Breach.” Some of the templars seemed intrigued, a few even taking a tentative step forward, when the Lord Seeker violently grasped Diana’s wrist, forcing her knees against the harsh stone, as a short cry escaped her lips. 

“You are a mage! Their association with you taints their purpose, and their pride!” the Lord Seeker roared at her, tightening his grip, as she squirmed but fiercely held his gaze, making no attempt to summon her magic 

“Lord Seeker!” one of the younger templars exclaimed, his brows drawn tightly in disapproval. He reached for the Lord Seeker’s arm, but a superior intervened, pushing him back. 

“Do not question. Such is an offense to the Maker.” The superior chastised, his hand griping his sword. The young templar stepped back, his frown deepening.   
Solas was now running from the other end of the courtyard, fury building in him as he drew at the ambient magic around them; Varric had unsheathed Bianca, his hand ghosting over the trigger. All Solas wished to do was burn the Lord Seeker to ash, damn the alliance. But before he could unleash his magic, Cassandra had forced herself between Diana and the Lord Seeker, bashing her shield against his chest as a growl rumbled in her chest. The Lord Seeker staggered backwards, dropping Diana’s wrist as Solas pulled her off the stones of the courtyard into his arms, defensively forcing her behind him. 

“You will not lay a finger on her” Cassandra sneered, her sword unsheathed and raised towards the Lord Seeker as he backed away from their group. The templars behind the Lord Seeker seemed nervous, whispering amongst themselves, while those beside him grasped at their swords, prepared for the worst. 

“Enough!” The Lord Seeker spit bitterly, “Your inquisition is nothing, and your herald,” he gestured to Diana, Solas’ hands tightening around her, “less than nothing. Templars, we march. Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection!” He snapped his fingers, and the knights came to attention, marching out of the city in uniform formation.   
Varric was the first to lower his guard, holstering Bianca onto his back, and sauntering back towards them. 

“I suppose that means the templars are out of the question?” he chuckled darkly, sneaking a peek at Diana, still tucked protectively behind Solas. Cassandra sighed in acquiescence, sheathing her sword. 

“It is beyond sense. I thought the Lord Seeker to be a reasonable man.” She shook her head in disappointment. Solas softened his grip on Diana, stepping aside, and facing her. She briefly placed a hand of thanks on his shoulder. 

“Could he be reasoned with, Cassandra?” Diana inquired quietly, her voice carefully controlled. 

“Reasoned with?” Solas growled, grabbing at the hand the Lord Seeker had grasped, raising it for the others to see. The red imprints of his gauntleted hand were still clearly visible around her pale wrist. “These are not the actions of a reasonable man!” Varric flinched on seeing the marks, as Diana roughly pulled her hand back to her chest. 

“I am afraid Solas is right,” Cassandra murmured, placing a hand protectively on Diana’s shoulder, her eyes darting around the courtyard, “I would not have thought it possible, but the templars may have gone too far astray.” Diana nodded gently, rubbing absently at her reddened wrist. 

“Then I suppose we must approach the rebel mages,” She exhaled, “let us hope they are more amenable.” 

“Yes, I’m sure the crazy mages are a better bet than the crazy templars,” Varric grinned trying to lighten the mood. Diana took to this immediately, her own face breaking into a good-natured smile. 

“Of course, Varric. You never bet against a crazy mage,” she leaned towards him conspiratorially, “that’s a surefire way to lose your pants.” He laughed. Cassandra rolled her eyes, groaning. Solas wasn’t particularly amused either, his face still twisted into an irritated scowl. 

“Since we are already in the city,” Cassandra interjected, drawing the attention of both Varric and Diana, “perhaps we should complete some errands. I believe Josephine has been making noise about recruiting more traders.” Diana nodded in agreement. 

“Yes, I believe she has; if you will excuse me for a moment.” The Herald took off towards the center of the courtyard, and it was then, that their group simultaneously remembered the Revered Mother, assaulted in the heart of the city. She was still slumped into the ground, being tended by a fellow sister. Diana kneeled to her level, as their group approached cautiously. 

“Revered Mother?” Diana intoned softly, placing a gentle hand on the woman’s shoulder. 

“This victory must please you greatly Seeker,” the Revered Mother spat at Cassandra, barely acknowledging Diana’s presence. 

"The Chantry brought this on itself,” Cassandra responded coolly, refusing to make eye contact with the woman. The Mother scoffed bitterly. 

“Do you need healing Your Worship?” Diana continued, ignoring their traded barbs. 

“No,” the Mother coughed, pushing herself to her knees, “nothing was done that time won’t fix.” Diana nodded. For a moment they simply sat there together, when Diana lowered her head. Solas didn’t understand the gesture, but evidently the rest of their little party, did. Cassandra seemed surprised, and at a loss for words. The Revered Mother, her eyes at first tight, softened, and she took Diana’s hands in her own. 

“Maker’s blessings on you, child. May Andraste guide your steps.” Diana raised her head. 

“Thank you, Revered Mother.” 

 

As it happened, their journey through Val Royeaux was quite remarkable. Not one, but two people had been convinced to join their cause, the First Enchanter Vivienne, the rogue Sera, and even a merchant had consented to trade at Haven. 

“I believe Josephine will be quite pleased,” Diana beamed as they approached the road leading out of Val Royeaux, “perhaps Haven will feel less like a ‘frozen dump’” Varric and Cassandra chuckled, and even Solas found himself smiling. 

“Seeker,” Varric glanced to Cassandra in mock seriousness, “are you laughing? Is that even allowed?” Cassandra sighed. 

“Must you always paint me as humorless?”

 

“If the uptight, grouchy helmet fits…” he grinned, shrugging his shoulders as Cassandra groaned in irritated. 

“Speaking of helmets, I believe I saw a merchant with some interesting schematics,” Cassandra gestured to the left, eyeing Varric, “you cannot keep going everywhere without a helmet, not with the trouble you get in.” She glared at him, but behind it, there was concern. 

“Very well Seeker, anything for my dear jailor,” Varric turned to Solas and Diana, “will you kids wait here?” Diana rolled her eyes, but nodded as the rogue and the Seeker approached the shop. 

Now alone, Solas was uncertain if they should speak. He busied himself pointlessly adjusting the banding on his staff.   
“I….” Diana began, her eyes firmly glued to her feet, “Solas I…I believe we got off on the wrong foot.” He brought his eyes to her face, and saw a slight blush grace her cheeks, his pace quickened at the sight. 

“You could say that, yes…” He replied cautiously. 

“I wanted to apologize,” she stepped closer to him, her eyes finally meeting his own, filled with a warmth he hadn’t seen before “You saved my life in the Hinterlands, and you’ve helped train me, and today…” her gaze shifted away, “you were at my side in an instant.” It was his turn to blush, hot blood rising in his cheeks. The rage he had felt towards the Lord Seeker had surprised him, and his desperate need to protect her. 

“Of course,” he forced his voice into a calm, cool, tone, completely opposed to the thrumming of his heart, “you are vital to the Inquisition.” Her eyes shifted to him again, but the warmth was gone. 

“I’ve been unkind,” she said firmly, taking one of his hands in hers, “and more than a little snarky.” A small smile played at her lips, and he found himself smiling in return. 

“More than a little I’d say.” She smiled broadly in response. 

“Well, I’m not the only one with a clever tongue,” he felt flush, his mind immediately imagining all the clever things her tongue could do, “anyway, I’m hoping we can start on a new foot. Wipe the slate clean?” 

“I would like that Diana,” he squeezed her hand gently, “and I too should apologize, I haven’t been on my best behavior.” He couldn’t seem to draw his eyes from hers, but she quickly looked away, softly pulling her hands from him. 

“I’m glad we could clear that up.” Her voice was so quiet, and she wouldn’t meet his gaze again.


	13. The Grand Enchanter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gang meets Grand Enchanter Fiona in Val Royeaux

When Varric and Cassandra finally returned, debating the relative merits of the absurd schematics they had acquired, Solas and Diana were in an awkward silence; both flushed, with Diana unable to meet his gaze, and Solas unable to look away. 

“Have we interrupted something?” Varric questioned, wiggling his eyebrows provocatively. 

“Of course not,” Solas replied, immediately regretting his words as he realized how it must sound, “just waiting for you two.” Diana audibly exhaled, and seemingly all tension released from her body, even her blush faded. 

“Are you finally ready? I swear, could you have taken longer to pick out a hat?” Diana smirked, keeping her eyes pointedly away from Solas. 

“Now, now, Grumpy, one can’t rush fashion” Varric chastised. Diana laughed warmly at this latest nickname attempt, but shook her head, apparently vetoing the new name. 

“You would not believe how many hats we went through,” Cassandra grumbled, shooting a sidelong glance at Varric, “I do believe the merchant was close to killing us.” 

“Next time Varric, try not to rile up the milliner; particularly when Cassandra is with you, the Inquisition really couldn’t survive without a leader.” Diana smiled towards the Seeker, who looked surprised, but said nothing. 

The grand gates separating Val Royeaux from the road were coming into view, and Solas took the time to pause and admire their craftsmanship as they passed through them. 

“If you could spare a moment?” A firm voice echoed from behind a darkened column, and out stepped the Grand Enchanter, hands crossed neatly behind her back. Cassandra appeared skeptical, her mouth closing into a firm line. 

“Fiona…,” Diana’s eyes widened as she reached out to the Grand Enchanter, their hands enveloping each other, “it is so good to see you well.” 

“And you as well Enchanter,” Fiona nodded warmly, “You are here for the Inquisition no?” 

“Yes, we search for aid in sealing the Breach.” Fiona nodded gravely. 

“It is indeed a dark day when you must beg for help, particularly from templars, to seal a rift in the sky. Perhaps you should be seeking aid from your fellow mages.” 

“Indeed. Would the mages be amenable to such an alliance?” 

“We would at least consider it. Come to Redcliffe, spend some time with your people.” Diana bristled at that, her lips narrowing into a thin line.

“Yes, well, I will take your offer to the Inquisition, Grand Enchanter.” Fiona nodded, moving to leave, when Cassandra interjected. 

“You were meant to be at the Conclave, Grand Enchanter, and yet you survive…”

“As does the Lord Seeker, you’ll note,” Fiona replied, a hint of irritation in her voice, “we had both sent proxies, in case it was a trap. Clearly it was. I hope you will not allow those monsters to profit of the murder of Most Holy.” 

“You believe the templars murdered the Divine?” Solas raised his brows in surprise. 

“Murdered her, so they could frame us,” Fiona sneered, “I don’t think it beyond them.” 

“But you do think it beyond us?” Diana replied

“I think it unlikely to be you. What would you gain? I know your leanings Enchanter, murdering the Divine would gain you nothing.” Cassandra arched a manicured brow, glancing at Diana in silent question. 

“Yes, well,” the Herald cleared her throat awkwardly, “we can discuss more in Redcliffe.” She turned abruptly on her heel, striding purposely down the road.


	14. In the Steps of Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sister Nightingale has discovered some interesting history about Lady Trevelyan. These insights are shared to the inner council, and Solas, as the Inquisition's magical advisor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: My canon warden is pragmatic to the point of being a monster. Take the warning seriously. 
> 
> This chapter was challenging to write, as in many ways, it's a lot of exposition; but it's needed to help build later plot threads. 
> 
> thanks everyone for being so patient!

Leliana had sent him the letter. Delivered by one of her more, questionable associates, calling him to a meeting in the Chantry. What the spymaster could have to discuss with him, Solas couldn’t imagine. He left the alchemists cabin, his temporary residence, into the cold night air of Haven. A few scattered patrols still graced the town, even this late, and he could hear conversation in the tavern. Passing by it on the way to the Chantry, he could more clearly pinpoint Sera’s boorish voice, leading the residents in some crude game. The soldiers seem to enjoy it, breaking into boisterous laugher every few moments. He ran a hand over his neck, an unwilling grimace scrawling over his face. Why the Herald had let that nuisance join the Inquisition, was beyond him. 

The night air was pleasant on his skin, prickling and piercing in the most delightful way. He took a moment to stop by the Herald’s cabin, peering through the window. She was curled in the bed, a thin blanket just barely covering her body. He grimaced. It was freezing, who had allowed her to go without a blanket. There was still time before his meeting in the Chantry. He ran back to his cabin, the cold air whipping harshly now across his face. A large fur blanket lay across his bed. He bundled the bedding into his arms, he may be a bit cold tonight, but it was unlikely he would get much sleep anyway. Sprinting back to Diana’s cabin, he laid the fur blanket over her tightly curled body, using his magic to heat the blanket ever so slightly, until her body relaxed under the bedding. Retreating slowly from the cabin, he silently closed the door behind him. 

The Chantry itself was still lit from within, even in the late hours. Perhaps two priests remained at worship, thankfully whispering the Chant, rather than their usual bellowing. But besides the gentle whispers of the two sisters, the Chantry was silent. The war room door was slightly ajar, and he could see candles flickering inside. Gently, he pressed on the wood, as the Inquisition heads came into view. Cassandra and Cullen seemed to be reviewing some scrolls with great interest, while Josephine and Leliana were deep in counsel on the other side of the room. Upon seeing him, Leliana abruptly ceased conversation with Josephine, moving to close and bolt the door. 

“Now that we are all present,” she looked at Solas pointedly, clearly an accusation for his tardiness, “we can discuss the business at hand.” She gestured to several chairs that had been organized around the war table, Solas took his seat gratefully, but still unclear on the meeting’s purpose; the fellow attendees didn’t look any better informed. 

“You are all here,” Leliana began, “because what I have unearthed regarding our Herald is essential for all of us to know.” 

“Regarding her time in the Ferelden Circle tower, or Ostwick?” Cullen interjected sternly. 

“She spent time in both towers?” Solas pondered, “Is that common?” 

“No,” Cullen replied curtly, “Mages are transferred from Circles under specific circumstances only.” 

“And we will examine those circumstances,” Leliana added, “I have also summoned all of you here because I believe this gives us the best chance to understand her history. I admit I find some of the details confusing, and perhaps using our unique fields of expertise, we can build a more coherent picture.” The party agreed; Solas felt a tension rising in his throat, and saw that the other attendees were no less relaxed, it seemed none of them were eager to pry so deeply. “First, and this is of course, not new to you Cullen,” she gestured to the Commander, “Diana was stationed at the Ferelden Circle during the Blight. Although I was traveling alongside the Warden at the time, I never saw the terror of the Circle, and thus didn’t realize she had been a veteran of the Blight.” 

“She fought in the Fifth Blight?” Solas was dumbfounded, “but she’s so young? The blight was a decade ago, she would have only been…” 

“Thirteen, yes,” Leliana supplied, as both Cassandra and Josphine’s faces contorted in shock. 

“But how could she have been allowed,” Cassandra’s voice was practically a whisper, “she wouldn’t be Harrowed at thirteen, she was still a child…” 

“The Warden-Commander demanded the assistance of every mage from the tower, and as many templars as she could take; the treaties were ironclad, and she was a formidable woman of a silver tongue, the Enchanters denied her nothing” Cullen supplied, staring down at his hands, “every mage was sent to Denerim, including the children.” 

“But what of possession? What of their safety? They would’ve stood no chance against the darkspawn” Josphine’s lip was quivering as she spoke. 

“This is true, and it is what the Warden was counting on” Leliana replied, her voice crisp, and unapologetic, “the child mages were sent together, in packs against the spawn; the Warden-Commander theorized such untrained, and fear fueled magic would attract the attention of demons, and that inexperienced children would fall to possession,” the faces around the table all mirrored each other, eyes wide with horror. This story was notably absent in the great praise that followed the Hero of Ferelden. “She was correct,” Leliana continued, “the abominations were very useful, practically sweeping an arm of the horde from the surrounding city docks, with most perishing along with the darkspawn they had slain. An ideal result.” There was a long silence around the table, until finally, Cassandra had the courage to ask what they had all been thinking. 

“Was Lady Trevelyan one of these children?” her face had gone pale, and Solas’ hands began clenching into fists under the table. 

“Yes, she was one of two mage children to survive Denerim,” Leliana supplied. Josphine’s eyes ran heavy with tears, silently sobbing. The Commander held his head in his hands, pressing the palms into his eyes; while Cassandra and Solas sat in silence. He imagined they both felt the same rage rising in their chests, toxic venom eating at their throats, as they pictured children bursting into abominations. It was no longer a surprise how quickly Diana had moved past the child possessed in the Hinterlands; she had already encountered far worse. 

“Nearly a hundred children were sent to Denerim….” Cullen whispered, his fingers running across his scalp, “If I had known, if we’d know what she….” His voice was trembling with rage, but he didn’t finish, his teeth grinding against each other. 

Leliana mercifully paused her reading of the history, allowing the attendees some time to gather themselves. But Solas knew that a few moments wouldn’t be enough to calm his fury that was building in the pit of his stomach. The Wardens were more monstrous than he had thought; just more evidence for why this atrocity of a world had to be burned away. 

“It was after her service in Denerim, that she was moved to Ostwick,” Leliana continued, the remaining participants having suitably calmed themselves, or at least quieted themselves, as the Ambassador was still crying in the corner, “The Warden-Commander herself made arrangements for the remaining two children, each provided with privileges beyond the norm for any mage of the Circle, in reward for their skill...and silence.” 

“She must have been pleased, to finally be safe again,” Cassandra whispered, perhaps mostly to herself. 

“Not initially,” Leliana answered her anyway, drawing the Seeker’s eyes, “her first year was notable only in her near constant petitions to receive the Right of Tranquility.” 

“She wanted that? After she had been one of the few to survive?” Cassandra seemed surprised. 

“Wouldn’t you?” the Commander croaked, drawing looks from the rest of the group, “Memories can torment as much as any demon.” Solas’ throat tightened, his own mistake growing large in his mind. After first awakening from Uthenera, did he not wish for death? For anything to escape his own mind, his own regret? The memory was unsettling. 

“But how did she avoid such a fate?” the Ambassador rejoined the conversation; her crying had finally ceased.

“First Enchanter Rivaldi, and Senior Enchanter Lydia, Trevelyan’s tutor, would never approve the request. Eventually, the requests simply stopped, I'm still looking into why.” Leliana explained, providing Josephine with copies of the various requests. 

“It couldn’t have hurt that she was given unique opportunities” Cassandra sighed, looking over at the requests that Josephine poured through. 

“What type of privileges?” Cullen inquired, evidently pleased to have entered less personal territory. 

“I don’t know of the other mage, but the Herald received specialized lessons from the First Enchanter and visiting scholars, was granted access to the rarest texts, began advanced training many years before her Harrowing, and was allowed some familial access” Leliana shuffled some parchment, finally laying her fingers upon a report on Diana’s education, 

“According to these reports, her primary fields of study were Fade Manipulation, Advanced Healing Magic, and Ancient Magical Lore, with specific interest in Elven magics.” Solas found his voice again, having forced his own tortured into the back of his mind.

“Some of these are rather…esoteric fields of study.” He reached out for the aged paper, which the spymaster gladly relinquished. 

“Apparently, before the Rebellion, she had been working specifically on Fade Manipulation for teleportation. Such research was regarded as not only farcical in its probability of success, but also worthless to the Fraternities, and thus her political power in the Circle was exceedingly limited.” 

“Indeed,” Solas replied, reviewing the notes more carefully, “such magic likely shouldn’t be possible. I wonder why it held her interest so?” His brows drew together in confusion. 

“The Senior Enchanters had the same response,” Leliana intoned, “thus, she was one of the few mages to avoid declaring allegiance to a fraternity, partially because no fraternity was eager to have her.” 

“How were her relations with the templars?” Cassandra piped up, resting her hands upon the war table, “If her privileges included trips home, that couldn’t have kept them friendly.” 

"She had told me that the templars in Ostwick gave her no problems,” Josephine sniveled, “please at least tell me that is true?” 

“Surprisingly, yes. Her relations with the Templars were decidedly docile. It was puzzling at first,” Leliana admitted, “until I gained access to some former servants of the Trevelyans. Evidently, her parents had known of Diana’s magic since she was four years old.” 

“Four? And already showing signs of magic? That is most uncommon.” The Commander seemed shocked, one hand digging into the war table. 

"And they didn’t relinquish her to the Circle until she was thirteen?” Cassandra grimaced, the disapproval clear in her tone. 

“On the contrary, Seeker,” Leliana replied, producing a second document, even more worn than the first, fraying at the edges, “the family never reported her. She presented herself to the Ferelden Circle during a visit to the country; this also explained why a Free Marcher was stationed in a Ferelden tower.” 

“It is so rare for a mage to present themselves,” Josephine pondered, “particularly if she had been living without incident.” 

“Precisely,” Leliana slapped her hand against the wooden table, her eyes flashing with annoyance, “I cannot determine why she presented herself. The documentation of the time provides no explanation, and her family, if they know, have stayed remarkably close-lipped. This, and her sudden abandonment of requesting Tranquility...these are threads that lead to nothing.”

“Mages who present themselves to the Circle are often viewed with less scrutiny,” Cassandra admitted, “from the Templars at least.” Solas nodded, immediately understanding the unspoken admission: the Templars may have trusted her, but her fellow mages of the Circle, did not.


	15. Heralds Burden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Diana share a moment outside Haven, where she wonders what has changed between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so almost nothing happened in this chapter, but I swear to God that we will get to Skyhold soon!

It was hard to look at the Herald the same way, after Leliana’s report. It had been weeks, and Solas could barely bring his eyes to hers anymore, her gaze stirring memories of the briefing, and reigniting his rage. It seemed the other members of the briefing weren’t doing much better; with Cullen treating Diana so delicately, she couldn’t practice combat with him anymore. Their eyes would watch her steps, then flee when she turned to look. It was cowardly, of all of them, but they couldn’t seem to stop. If any of this bothered her, she didn’t show it; continuing her work with the Inquisition as if nothing had changed. 

But everything had changed. When he looked at her, when they all looked at her; all they could see was that thirteen-year-old girl, sent as a sacrifice to the darkspawn. How must it feel? To have survived when she was never expected to, and now, to have done it again? How couldn’t her thoughts drift to Denerim, to the last time she had been the ‘exception’? He wanted desperately to ask her, to ask her about everything; but watching her go about her day in relative peace, falling into routines of potion-making and training, it felt wrong to disturb her. So, he spoke to everyone else, anyone else, and avoided her. 

Did she think it rude? Solas pondered, making his usual notes and observations on the Breach, camped up a hill to the west of Haven. They had seemingly experienced a breakthrough of sorts in Val Royeaux. Since her apology, which he more and more felt was said out of a desire for peace, rather than true penance, they had conversed with a civility and positivity that their relationship had never known before. And now, having been trusted with the knowledge of what was likely the worst thing to ever happen to her, he couldn’t bear her presence. And he couldn’t even tell her why, without declaring that the Inquisition had violated her privacy. Of course, as a mage from the wretched Circle, she had likely never been given the privacy she was due anyway. It still felt wrong. His feelings towards her were…complicated at the very least; could the barest friendship they’d struck up, could it even survive this new assault? He couldn’t begin to say. She was unpredictable, and the complex mixture of emotions she aroused in him…it made conversations challenging. 

She was like the Breach. An enigma to him. A concern. A fascination. An obsession. Whenever he gazed at its pulsing green light, he thought of her eyes; warm and golden, probing in their intensity, leaving him little room to hide. 

“You’ve been scarce.” Solas nearly leapt from his skin at the woman’s voice, bolting to his feet, and pulling the staff from his back, his magic already charged to a dangerous peak, when he saw her smirking smile. He sighed, lowering his staff. 

“It may be wiser to announce yourself. As you seem to move with unusual stealth.” He pushed his back against a tree, allowing his hands to rest gently on his staff. 

“A skill learned from another time,” she smiled lightly, letting herself turn to face the Breach, “it’s beautiful really, something I used to dream of, what felt like a lifetime ago. How rarely reality matches fantasy.” 

“You fantasized of portals into the Fade?” he found himself chuckling at the bizarre nature of the admission, “I’m surprised to hear that anyone of this world would want that.”

“There are…possibilities,” she paused, drawing her hands across her chest until he could see her fingertips clutch at her back, “with an open portal to that place, if it were stable. Walking there physically would answer many questions,” she sighed, as Solas’ face drained of color, she was too close to the truth, although she didn’t know it, 

“but perhaps there are some things the Maker doesn’t mean us to know” she finished her head shaking, in argument with her words, and turned to face him again. 

“How would you know what he does, or doesn’t wish?” Solas queried rather firmly, still reeling at her admission. 

“I don’t.” she admitted coolly, “I only know what I want…and sometimes not even that.” She smiled coyly. Solas felt himself slipping into casual familiarity; the formal nature of their friendship was difficult, but necessary, to maintain. He swallowed hard, he had to keep her at a distance, lest his curiosity get the best of him. 

“Was there anything you required Herald?” he said in a clipped tone, trying to return to a professional discussion. Her lip curled almost imperceptibly at the title, before returning to its normal smoothness. 

“Yes.” She paused, evidently comfortable forcing him to probe for details. 

“And what is it you need from me?” Solas continued, somewhat testily. 

“Now that I’m here, I’m less certain I need anything.” 

“Oh? Pray tell what has changed within the past five minutes to alter your request?” She twisted her red braid between her fingers, the light dancing through the golden threads. 

“The Inquisition has agreed that we should evaluate the Mage Rebellion’s offer in person,” she began to pace, packing down the snow beneath her feet, “and Cassandra would like me to lead the delegation, and has given me broad powers deciding who else should attend.” She stopped then, staring at him in silent question. 

“You want me to come with you to Redcliffe?” he asked, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. 

“I thought I did. But now I’m not sure it will give the best impression.” His smile died. 

“How so?” 

“You’re an apostate who has never known the Circle…I believe your presence might carry political undertones.” 

“Ah, the political undertones of freedom. Indeed, that would be a problem if you intend to cage the Mages.” his voice took on an unintended hardness as he reviewed the vague descriptions she had given about the Circle, was it possible she wanted it back?

“That isn’t why we are going there,” she responded firmly, her teeth grinding together, “And I am not an arm of the Chantry or a Kingdom; I have no legal course to do what you propose.” He bristled at her explanation. It was so careful, so neutral, and revealed nothing of her political leanings. The Grand Enchanter had hinted that Diana held a position on the subject, but she had yet to disclose it. Whenever the topic arose, she filled the air with legalistic wordplay and deferrals. For a moment, he almost laughed at this, as it must annoy the Seeker even more than himself. 

“If we have no intention of leashing them, why is my presence a problem?” 

“You give the impression we might be there to free them.” 

“So, you do intend to control them?” the irritation was rising in his throat. 

“I don’t intend to do anything with them, except get their help sealing the Breach. Anything else will be handled by the proper authority.” 

“The proper authority?” he laughed bitterly, “They have failed every step of the way, if we can even claim that there is anything proper about an authority that jails the innocent” 

“Be that as it may,” she admitted, meeting his eyes with a cold stare, “My role within the Inquisition isn’t so powerful to decide things like that. I just need their commitment to the Breach.” There was silence for a time as she sat down on a nearby fallen tree, her expression unreadable. When it became clear she wasn’t going to speak, he joined her. 

“You seem reluctant to use the power the Inquisition grants you,” he said softly, keeping his gaze from her, “you must have noticed how Cassandra presses the reins more and more into your hands,” She stayed silent, pulling her knees to her chest, and laying her head across them. “Do you have nothing to say?” he directed his eyes to her, willing her to look at him. 

“I thought we had come to an understanding” 

“What? What are you talking about?” his brows drew together in complete bewilderment.

“After Val Royeaux, things had been, dare I say friendly, I thought perhaps I could even call you a friend of sorts…and now you are somewhere else. Like the past few weeks were erased.” Ah of course, she was referring to him, to his obvious avoidance. 

“Nothing has changed, Herald” he forced the tremble out of his voice, forced away the tell that would reveal the lie. She smiled, but there was no joy in it; a smile of hundreds of un-shed tears, of bitter acquiescence.

“You would have called me Diana before,” she sighed, lifting her head and stretching out her legs, groaning slightly as she did so. He tried to speak: to apologize, to correct himself, to assure her that he indeed wanted them to be friends, that he’d try to use her name; but she cut him off, holding up a stiff hand just as he tried to speak. “It’s okay Solas, I won’t ask you to explain. If we can work together, that’s all that really matters.”

A small smile twitched at her lips, and he felt his heart clench, as he looked away. He hadn’t realized how profoundly alienating this entire situation must be for her. He knew what it was to be nothing but a symbol, how it could tear you apart; and she hadn’t been a mere human for months. Every day, despite her disavowals, the myth of the ‘Herald of Andraste’ grew. Each day in Haven, people treated her with more and more reverence; and to her, it must appear that he was doing the same.   
She lingered for a time, staring at her marked hand, as he kept his eyes on anything but her. 

“Will you come to Redcliffe?” she whispered, keeping her gaze firmly on the snowy ground. 

It was his chance to correct things. He needed her to know that she wasn’t just a symbol to him, that she could be, that she was, something more. Still keeping his eyes on the horizon, he reached out a hand to her, gently clasping her thin fingers in his. 

“Of course, Lethallan.”


	16. Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana and Vivienne have a moment in the Chantry. Solas recollects a night of guard duty.

“My dear, do you truly think our Solas provides the right impression to these Rebels?” the First Enchanter gently touched Diana’s shoulder, her eyes thick with sickly sweet concern, as they readied themselves for the trip to Redcliffe. Solas bristled, but Diana seemed unperturbed by the touch, regarding the Enchanter with a practiced coolness. “We hardy wish to make promises we can’t keep.” 

“It is a risk,” Diana agreed diplomatically, laying her hand upon that of the Enchanter, gently dragging it off her shoulder, “but they will be easier to…” she paused, her eyes darting briefly to Solas, “manage,” she finally decided, “if they believe the Inquisition supports them.” The First Enchanter frowned. 

“But is what they believe true: does the Inquisition support this rabble of rogue mages?” The question had drawn some attention. Although no heads had turned, the Chantry was suddenly quiet; small pairings of priests and artisans, mages and researchers dotted the grand hall, each now silently waiting to hear the Herald of Andraste declare Inquisition support, one way or the other. The First Enchanter smirked. She had meant to provoke this type of response, to try and trap Diana into a position. The Herald’s cheeks flushed, not in embarrassment, but in anger. Her eyes narrowed to slits as she regarded Lady Vivienne: the haughty mage seemed perfectly at ease waiting, with the ears of the Chantry listening to her every breath, her lips pulled together in a self-assured smile. Of course, she wouldn’t be averse to the spotlight. Solas glared coldly in her direction. He wasn’t entirely incurious as to the position of Inquisition on the mages, but to try to corner her now, like this, it was too much. His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp laugh. He whipped his head to the source, and saw Diana’s lips had twisted into a clever smile, her molten eyes glittering with pleasure. The First Enchanter had noticed too, her eyes tightening in response. 

“An important question First Enchanter Vivienne,” Diana spoke with exaggerated politeness, “I suggest you ask the leaders of the Inquisition for the official position.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“I am but a servant of our dearest Cassandra, Leliana, and Commander Cullen,” Diana continued, turning her attention to her neatly packed bag, rearranging items without purpose. 

“My dear,” the First Enchanter began, “as the Herald of Andraste you will certainly have a say in the fate of the mages.” 

“Perhaps,” Diana pursed her lips, “but the fact remains: this is not my Inquisition, the policies of this Inquisition are not my policies. I am, much like yourself, a volunteer.” Vivienne bristled at the word, as the Chantry resumed its regular tenor, the crowd seeming satisfied enough, for the time being, with Diana’s self-recusal. 

“We all must take sides eventually my dear,” Vivienne cautioned, her face a mask of disdain, “only the dead,” Diana’s fingers froze, clutching at a tunic she’d been needlessly rearranging, “have the luxury to stay silent.” Vivienne stalked off, the click of her boots harshly snapping against the tiled floor. Diana brought the tunic to her head, crushing her hands against her eye sockets, exhaling loudly. Solas opened his mouth, about to speak, when Diana beat him to it. 

“I know, I know…” she lowered her hands, her eyes softly regarding him, a small crease forming between her brows, “She’s right. I must decide soon.” 

He took one of her hands into his, gently rubbing it. She smiled slightly. Things had been a bit warmer between them, after their moment in the snow. He has surprised her, addressing her as he did. It had been a moment of such closeness, such tenderness, that neither of them were comfortable repeating it. And although it had brought their relationship back into one of friendly familiarity, both refused to discuss it. They still spoke formally; despite his best efforts, his tongue couldn’t quite wrap itself around her name, still favoring her title. She had retaliated by insisting on using the honorific ‘Ser’ when referring to him. It was an acceptable compromise. They spoke of the Inquisition, and magical theory, but little else. He had safely tucked her past into a corner of his mind that he had no desire to access again. He didn’t cringe anymore when someone mentioned the Grey Wardens, didn’t search her face for signs of distress. From time to time the knowledge of her past would try to seep out; he would wish to comfort her when her mind wandered to an unpleasant memory, her eyes darkening and brow furrowing. Until he had heard her history, he hadn’t realized how often her mind drifted; drifted, he believed, to memories of blood and horror. But he knew, knew with certainty, that his attempts at comfort would be anything but comforting. She didn’t wish him to know about her, and to learn that the worst aspects of her past had become well reviewed knowledge among the most trusted of the Inquisition…it wasn’t hard to predict her response. 

The weeks of preparation for Redcliffe had passed in this manner, each maintaining a strict, verbally professional distance. But feeling her gentle hand in his, her fingers practically tingling against his palm now, he knew things had gone beyond the professional. Their bodies, didn’t seem to get the memo that they were colleagues. He burned in her presence. Burned when he could feel the heat of her body only a few inches away. Burned when her eyes ran across him and he could almost feel the caress in them. He wondered if it was the same for her, if her fingers sparked and sizzled when she touched him. She had fallen asleep against his shoulder last night, sighing contentedly, as he tended the dying embers of the fire. 

 

It had been their turn in the guard rotation for Haven. Although the Inquisition grew in numbers every day, they still weren’t so well supplied with people that Solas and Diana could afford to skip their turn; particularly as their titular spymaster felt it was brilliant propaganda for the people to see the ‘Herald’ guarding them, Diana had rolled her eyes at that.   
Her feet crunched noisily through the snow, fingers undulating through the wind as she conjured playful little sparks that danced around her open palm, before disintegrating into the air. She seemed to take great joy in playing with her magic, and he smiled at her. It was pleasant to see that she could still enjoy the small things, despite the weight on her shoulders. Bizarrely, her face wasn’t relaxed into the gentle smile she normally wore, but her lips firmly pressed together, as if she were concentrating very hard on something. 

“Ser Solas,” she began, the formality of her voice sinking his smile, pushing him back into comfortable borders of their relationship, “I would like to discuss something.” 

“Yes? What do you require of me?” 

“We need to discuss our colleagues, and the journey to Redcliffe.” He nodded thoughtfully in response, he had expected she would eventually wish to discuss this. 

“I assume you’d like my opinion on who else should attend?” She smiled politely, and after a few moments of silence, he realized she was waiting for his recommendation. “Ah, well, I believe Cassandra would likely have insight,” he paused, grinning, “and I doubt you could keep her away.” she laughed at that, her hand brushing against his as they walked. 

“As for the second,” he considered carefully. They had gathered several allies over the weeks, but few were appropriate for this kind of development. The Warden Blackwall, his stomach turned at the mere thought, was too brutish for a negotiation. Sera, the insufferable wretch that Diana had allowed to stay, beyond all sense, she couldn’t be let anywhere near an important meeting. And the others weren’t much better. The silence dragged on as he went back and forth, struggling to pick any of them. 

“Yes, it’s a puzzle, isn’t it?” She interrupted his thoughts, “It’s alright, I can determine this myself.” She smiled gently at him. 

“I don’t envy you the task,” he chuckled. They continued for a time, in peaceable silence, until they reached the lookout post, three miles from Haven. The former patrol was bundled up together, two young men, couldn’t be older than their teens. 

“Gentlemen.” Diana addressed them, her voice casual. The man on the left gaped, the other hitting his arm sharply, and forcing him to his knees. 

“Your Worship,” his voice trembled, as both men averted their eyes. A split second of displeasure washed over Diana’s face, but neither of the youths seemed to notice. She touched their shoulders, bidding them to rise. 

“Thank you,” she smiled warmly, pretending to appreciate their reverence, “you may go now.” They nodded jerkily, still incapable of meeting her gaze, and quickly walked past. The snow crunching noisily beneath them, as they whispered tensely to each other. Solas and her settled themselves into the furs and blankets the scouts had left behind, as she poked at the fire. 

“Will you ever learn to enjoy the reverence?” he wondered aloud, letting his eyes trace the constellations in the stars. 

“Perhaps,” she chuckled lightly, “one can only stay humble for so long when everyone treats you as a prophet.” 

“You’ve managed it, Herald,” he regarded her curiously, “and it has only seemed to increase their favor to you.” 

“It likely has little to do with me at all,” she admitted, examining her mark, as she often did, “they need to believe there is greater purpose beyond these events,” she turned to gaze thoughtfully at the Breach. He didn’t respond. It was true that her symbolism could have been borne, and used, by almost anyone. What she didn’t understand, or didn’t accept, is that she was more than that now. They looked to her and saw a leader, whether she was willing to lead or not. He suspected she must know what they wanted. Her voice broke him from his internal musings. 

“I’ll be visiting the Storm Coast in a few days,” she said casually, stretching her arms out, “a mercenary group would like to join up.” He scowled slightly, mercenaries were loyal only to coin, easily swayed. 

“Are you sure that’s wise?” 

“It’s worth considering,” she said, “they came to us, seems they might have a bit more investment in our cause than just coin.” 

“So, when do we leave?” 

“I,” she emphasized the word, “will be leaving at dawn, in perhaps two days.” He drew his eyes to her. 

“You don’t want me to come?” 

“No.” she said firmly. For a moment the silence was awkward; she hadn’t gone on a single expedition without him (not counting her ill-advised first trip to the Hinterlands), not since the Inquisition began. The idea of her traipsing off to the coast, to meet some likely ill-mannered, untrustworthy mercenaries, without him… His stomach twisted into knots. 

“Any particular reason you don’t wish for my presence Herald?” 

“Yes,” she sighed, maneuvering her body to face him completely, “there are some other errands we must complete there, and I don’t believe you would approve of them” she pursed her lips softly, and his interest was piqued. 

“What would be so objectionable to me?” 

“Blackwall,” she began, and his face twisted into a sneer, shoulders bristling, “you see,” she said, noticing his reaction, “I just say his name and you’re already uncomfortable. That’s why I can’t have you there. It’s…” she sucked in a sharp breath, “Grey Warden related, and I knew you wouldn’t want to be part of it.” 

“You’re right,” he spat acidly, “I wouldn’t…and you shouldn’t either.” She swallowed loudly, rolling her shoulders back. 

“He knows about treaties, things that Josephine could use,” she explained, seemingly trying to convince herself more than him, “I…we, can’t afford to be squeamish about the help we accept.” And he saw it then, the tightness behind her eyes. How hard it must be for her to accept this kind of ‘assistance’, to use the exact type of treaties that had conscripted her. Worse still, she believed nobody knew, giving her even less of a reason to refuse the help. His brow quickly softened. 

“I understand,” he breathed out in acquiescence, and he did understand, truly, what it cost her to agree to this, “I don’t judge you for taking their help.” He added, knowing that he dared not confess anymore, lest she become suspicious. Her shoulders visibly relaxed at that point, perhaps she cared more about his regard than she let on. 

“Besides,” she continued, in a more casual tone, “I’m sure there are more preparations you could make for Redcliffe.” He nodded; he did still have some legal scrolls to attend to before they left, Diana was insistent that they arrived with contracts, in case terms could be reached quickly. 

The night was otherwise uneventful. They discussed the Fade a bit, mostly him telling her of the great cities he’d seen, the castles of many ages past, crumbling into ruin. She was always so curious, always probing deeper and deeper for more details, more stories. And yet she rarely shared her thoughts on them. He would occasionally see a sparkle in her eye, a slight upturn of her mouth as a thought came to her, but she never shared, preferring to request more details, as she build some unseen, mental case-file of his recollections. 

Her strength began to wane after the hours, exhaustion overtaking her, and he felt the gentle pressure of her body slump against him in the middle of a story. Her red hair spilling across his shoulder in waves of gentle flame. The soft purse of her lips quavering as she drew in a cold breath of air. Barely thinking, he brought his arms around her, pulling her into his lap, and letting her head rest upon the plane of his shoulder. She sighed contentedly, snuggling closer to him, still claimed by sleep. His fingers burned when he touched her, gently brushing back of lock of her hair, to steal a glance at her restful face. He knew he should move her, place her in a bedroll, return to the fire, keep things professional. But feeling the weight of her in his arms, her breath cascading along his neck, the heat radiating off her and piercing through his chest…things had become inappropriate between them. His body reacted to her, was brought alive by her. A heart, many centuries entombed in ice, locked in with duty and nothing more, was beating again, spreading hot fire through his limbs again. 

 

“Ser Solas?” He jumped, drawn away from the memory of last night, by a confused voice. He realized he’d been grasping Diana’s hand rather tightly, and quickly dropped it. Hoping that hot blood wasn’t rising into his cheeks, illuminating his shame. She regarded him curiously, before returning to her packing. He dismissed himself with a few murmured words, walking quickly towards the exit, praying that the icy winds of Haven could put out the flame that was rising in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead! Sorry this is actually an older chapter, and doesn't really go anywhere...but yeah decided to post anyway. Working on the chapter for the Storm Coast, although Solas won't be involved in that, and should be a more 'action-based' chapter.


	17. The Iron Bull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Diana and company meet the Iron Bull.

The cool air of the coastline was like a balm to her frayed nerves. Diana inhaled deeply, letting the salt tinted wind permeate every facet of her lungs as she scanned the rocky shore for the mercenary party they were supposed to meet. All seemed quiet, and she began to wonder if all this had simply been an elaborate trap, when she caught sight of the dark boat drifting silently to the shore. She couldn’t tell at this distance if these were the Tevinter smugglers or not, but it seemed a safe assumption. Diana flexed her hand on reflex, a sudden burn spreading from palm to fingertip. The mark still hurt, every day it would shudder and pulse, even though it grew no larger. But with each shudder, with each pulse, burning pain surged, and she fought to stay on her feet, pulling in a pained breath. It was even worse when closing rifts; it was as if her whole arm was set aflame, thankfully the sound of the rift itself usually drowned out her whines of pain, and thus her companions had yet to notice. They had noticed however, the flex of her hand, and the sharp intake of breath; Diana almost felt a wave of tension flow over the party. She turned back to face them, plastering a practiced look of indifference on her face. 

Blackwall seemed alert as ever, his stormy eyes having zeroed in on the docking boat, his hand resting gently on the hilt of his sword. He was a consummate soldier, and the way he held himself…she shivered as she thought of the other wardens she had the displeasure of knowing, imaging their cold, dead eyes still made her nauseous. Blackwall wasn’t like them, no, certainly not like that. His gaze not quite so cold, not so calculating. His stride, not nearly as assured. He joked with Sera, and he even smiled from time to time, and his smile was a genuine thing, not a dangerous thing like she’d seen before. Perhaps that was why she could bear this, why she could use his treaties and his Warden expertise, because he didn’t feel like a Warden, he didn’t raise the hairs of the back of her neck and put a lump in her throat. Even so, she didn’t exactly enjoy Blackwall’s company. He cleared his throat gruffly, and she jumped a little. 

“Your worship,” he grunted, and she bristled at the title, “I believe that boat is what the messenger informed us about.” He paused, waiting on her word. It bothered her, the way the fellow members of the Inquisition deferred to her judgement, as if she were a commander. In strictest terms, she had no title under this ‘Inquisition’; she served at the request of Cassandra, and the three advisors. The only reason she was at their special meetings was because of the mark, a mark she barely understood and that still caused constant pain. 

“Yes Blackwall, of course,” she murmured, scanning the rest of their crew, “let’s move out.” 

The rocky hill leading to the coastline was treacherous, and Diana found herself slipping and being caught more than once. Varric had kept himself annoying close, ready to catch her and laugh each time her foot wobbled off an uneven slope. 

“I thought mages were supposed to be graceful,” he laughed, as she steadied herself on his outstretched arm, after nearly tripping on a particularly sharp rock “supposed to just float from enemy to enemy,” he continued, raising an eyebrow waggishly. 

“I know, right?” Sera giggled impishly, her feet fluidly kissing the ground beneath them, barely making a sound as she navigated the jutting stones with ease, “maybe our Lady Herald is just defective or something.” 

“There was no uneven ground in the Circle.” Diana huffed in irritation, pushing away Varric’s arm.

“Oh, don’t be so sensitive Tumbler.” Varric chided, keeping close as Diana stumbled along. Blackwall laughed, heading up the back of their little party, also managing the uneven terrain with ease. 

“Tumbler?” he chuckled again, his voice rumbling in a pleasant baritone “Varric, I think it’s time to admit that the Herald is beyond even your skill for nicknames.” 

“I will find the right one,” Varric grumbled, “it’s just a matter of time, and perhaps a matter of ale.” Diana ignored them, mustering all her focus on staying upright as they descended the hill. 

They could hear the fighting now that they had reached the shore: steel clashing, grunts of pain, cries of anger. And in the middle of it all, was the commander of the Bull’s Chargers: Iron Bull. He seemed more beast than man, his muscles rippling as he swung an axe of immense weight, as a child would swing a doll. He wore no shirt, presumably the horns, great massive horns that tip to tip were likely long as Diana’s arm, would get in the way. He was at least seven feet tall, his hands of such a proportion that he could easily crush a human head with them, and he proceeded to, when a Tevinter mage who was without a helmet, got too close. Iron Bull seemed to revel in the bloody spectacle he made, grinning and guffawing as he tore through anyone foolish enough to get in his way with glorious abandon. He was a giant on the battlefield, a God of War, who exuded a bizarre aroma of terror and joy. 

Diana and her companions joined the bloody fray, but there was little left to do. Blackwall engaged a few of the remaining warriors, bashing his shield into their sword hands, sending the weapons flying, as Sera finished them off with a slew of lightning fast arrows. Diana set the final mage aflame, his coat fed the fire nicely, and soon, he was screaming towards the water, when a crossbow bolt abruptly tore through his neck. She surveyed the battlefield: nearly thirty smugglers lined the coast, their blood seeping into the sand, and running into the water. Her review was interrupted by a booming voice. 

“Chargers! Stand down.” Iron Bull bellowed, his lips pulled into a confident grin, as he swaggered toward one of the mercenaries, a young man, with warm skin, and heavy plate, “Krem, how’d we do?” he turned to face Diana as he waited for Krem to respond, and she sensed this inquiry was more for her benefit, than his. 

“Five or six wounded Chief, none dead,” Krem replied in a triumphant voice. Iron Bull didn’t turn around, but he nodded at Diana, raising an eyebrow cockily. 

“That’s what I like to hear. Let the throatcutters do their work, then break out the casks!” the men roared on this final instruction, and Iron Bull laughed mightily, throwing his head back in joviality. He sauntered over to Diana. “So, you’re with the Inquisition huh? Good to meet you.” He threw out his meaty hand, clutching hers in a powerful shake. 

“And you must be Iron Bull,” Diana responded numbly, as seeing the man face to face was a rather disorienting experience, taking in all the details she couldn’t see from a distance. The rough texture of his horns, like tree bark twisting into sharp peaks. His face was lined with scars, some deep and some shallow, running from the edge of his jaw to the top of his horns. One eye was covered with a gaudy patch, silver, with a dragon carved into its surface, and what appeared to be a ruby for its eye. The height of him was also more overwhelming than she thought, as she craned her head to meet his eye. 

“Yeah, the horns usually give it away,” he responded, still grinning, as he gestured for her to sit on a nearby rock. She gladly took a seat, waving off her companions, earning a defiant smirk from Sera. “So, you’ve seen what we can do,” Iron Bull continued, parking himself on a nearby boulder, “we’re expensive, but we’re worth it.” 

“Just how expensive are we talking?” Diana eyed him warily; their work here was fast, and effective, but the Inquisition didn’t have much to spare in terms of finances. 

“Gold will take care of itself,” he waved her off with a giant hand, “your Ambassador…Josephine I believe? She can set all that up. Money isn’t important here, what matters is, we’re good.” Diana was slightly taken aback, and her eyes narrowed cautiously, she wasn’t aware the Inquisition’s staff was common knowledge, especially to a group of mercenaries.

“The Charger’s seem like they would be useful…” she offered, and it was true, she already knew of several missions that would suit a strike force like this perfectly. 

“They would be, but you aren’t getting just them,” he leaned towards her, “you’re getting me.” 

“Getting you?” Diana repeated, not quite understanding. 

“Someone like you,” he gestured at her, giving her body a once over, “someone who is being called the Herald of a God, you’re bound to make some enemies. You need a bodyguard, and I’m your man,” he said confidently, rising from his rock, “Demons? Dragons? Whatever it is, I’ll fight it. The bigger the better really.” He chuckled deeply. She rose to join him, and was again thrown by the height difference between them. 

“So…you’d travel with me?” She asked, “protect me from whatever I happened to run across?” 

“Pretty much,” he nodded, “Or at least, I’ll always make sure you come out alive, bad business to let your charge die.” He winked at her. For a moment she considered the offer, and then remembered her former acquaintances from the Circle, and remembered how many people she still needed to fear…she did need him. 

“I could use you,” she said firmly, reaching out her hand to finalize their deal. 

“One thing,” he held up a large finger, “Something you need to know, might be good, might piss you off. Ever heard of the Ben-Hassrath?” 

“Secret police for the Qunari right?” she was confused, why did any of this matter? 

“Well, sort of. I’d say they are more like spies…or we are.” He waited. And she paused for a moment. Just a moment, before she drew her staff and began to back up, her lips curling into a sneer. Now the Qunari were after her too? Could she take on their company? Could Blackwall…but her thoughts were cut short when Iron Bull raised up his hands. “Whoa, whoa! Relax, I’m not here to kill you.” 

“Then why are you here?” she snarled, keeping her hands on her staff.

“The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic like that, it could go out of control, and nobody wants that,” She felt herself calming down as he spoke, “they ordered me to join the Inquisition, get close to the top people, and let them know what’s going on. But,” he smiled, as if he knew he was about to win her over, “I also get reports from Ben-Hassrath all over Thedas, and I’ll share them with you. If your spymaster is worth a damn, she’ll put them to good use.” Diana’s head was spinning with this information, but she knew that Iron Bull had indeed, played his ultimate card. Spy reports, from a massive network across Thedas? Almost any risk was worth getting their hands on them. She forced herself to focus, and tried to speak with as much certainty and power as she could muster. 

“What precisely would you send in your reports home?” her voice sounded sharp, curt. Good, he needed to respect their organization. 

“Just enough to keep them happy, not enough to compromise your work. I’ll even run them past your spymaster.” 

“You bet you will.” She snapped. 

“Does that mean we’re hired?” he smiled cockily, probably already knowing the answer before she spoke. 

“Yes, you’re hired,” she grumbled. 

“You hear that boys!?” he roared, turning back to his men, “the Charger’s just got hired!”


End file.
